


Shifting

by synchronysymphony



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (lots), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Cooking, Developing Relationship, Driving, Friendship/Love, M/M, Socially Awkward Enjolras, nsfw in chapter 3, phone fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:33:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronysymphony/pseuds/synchronysymphony
Summary: Enjolras is good at a lot of things. Driving isn't one of them.





	1. First Gear

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think there's anything super bad in here, but it's a story about learning to drive while having anxiety, and many people (including me) have problems with that, so if that's an issue for you, be careful!

"Again?"

Enjolras looks up shamefacedly at his best friend and current bastion of hope. He hates to ask, but it's the only thing he can do at this point.

"Sorry, 'Ferre. I just really, really need to study."

"So you want me to drive you to the bakery so you can get cookies."

"Yes?"

Combeferre sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Fine. But seriously, Enjolras, you should think about getting a driver's license."

"Yeah, yeah."

"And like, soon. I'm starting clinicals next month. How am I supposed to drive you around then?"

"Faith?"

"Ugh." Combeferre grabs his keys from the bowl and goes to slip on his shoes. "Come on, then. Let's get this over with."

Enjolras smiles sweetly and follows him down to their apartment's parking lot. Combeferre might complain, but in the end, he always lets him have his way.

\--

Enjolras knows how to drive. Or at least, he _technically_ does. It's just, he tends to freeze up when he's on the road. Or on side streets. Or in the driveway. Point is, driving isn't the best activity for someone as high-strung and anxious and prone to panic attacks as he is.

He pretends that he doesn't drive because he's spoiled and likes to be chauffeured everywhere. It's funny to play the pampered prince, and to be honest, he sometimes gets into his role a little too much, but in the end, he doesn't like being helpless. Even though his friends are happy to ferry him around where he needs to go, he knows that if he could get a handle on himself, he would try to never bum a ride again.

It's not that he hasn't tried. He has. Occasionally, someone will convince him to take a spin, and he'll grumpily accede to their wishes, growling and grumbling the whole time so they won't see how terrified he is. But it never goes well. Once, he broke the rear tail light of Courfeyrac's car. Another time, he stalled at a stoplight and got rear-ended by a soccer dad. And on yet another occasion, he almost plowed into a semi-truck and stopped in the middle of the left-turn lane for a good minute, too scared to move, even though people were honking and flipping him off the entire time. He always comes home ice cold, soaked in sweat, and trembling.

None of his friends know how scared he is of driving. They know about his anxiety, of course (it's kind of hard to hide that, especially with two med students and a PsyD candidate as friends), but they don't know the extent to which it impairs his life. It bothers him to no end, but even the simplest tasks are well-nigh impossible for him. If things like making a call, or going to the grocery store are difficult, then driving is practically Herculean. As much as he pretends not to care, he really hates this about himself.

Even more than this, though, he hates bothering Combeferre (or his other friends, but since he lives with Combeferre, it's usually him). It seems like there's always something. He tries to limit himself, because he knows the poor man has better things to do than act as his private taxi service, but it's hard, because things keep popping up.

If he could, he would walk, but most places are too far away. Then, too, he's really too small and too conventionally attractive to be out in public by himself. At this point, it's just plain dangerous. He sometimes takes the metro and the buses, but his sense of direction is horrible, and anyway, he got mugged on the Number 9 a few weeks ago and it wasn't even the first time, so this isn't the best option either. And of course, he can't just use Ubers or taxis all the time. He's a college student, after all. Really, all he can do is continue to ask for rides and hope for the best.

Unless. Maybe he should just face his fears and get his license.

Maybe it's time.

\--

When Enjolras decides to get his license, he decides almost immediately not to tell anyone until after he's already passed his driving test. That way, there can be no repercussions if he fails, and he can focus on getting things done. He needs to be single-minded about this. After making a DMV appointment in the dead of night when Combeferre can't see him, he sits down to make a secret plan and get it all figured out.

Unfortunately, though, this means that it'll be hard to find someone to help him get ready for the appointment. That he needs someone is undeniable, but he's not sure who would be willing. He's a _very_ bad driver, and he's not always the calmest, either. Whomever he asks is going to have to either have the patience of a saint, or just really like to watch him flail and panic and make a disaster out of things.

 _Ah._ He has an idea.

The next day, he leaves straight from class and walks to the off-campus apartments to beat down Grantaire's door.

"Hi," he says, almost the second the door swings open. He can't lose his nerve, here. "Grantaire, I would like to ask you for a favor."

"If it's a body, I'd rather not. I want to preserve my deniability," says Grantaire immediately.

"It's not a body. It's worse." Enjolras gulps down a breath of air, realizing he hasn't breathed once since he first knocked on the door. When he's sufficiently oxygenated, he goes on. "You're 26 and legally allowed to teach. And I need to get my license. Will you help me?"

Grantaire's face registers blank astonishment. Apparently, he hadn't been expecting this.

"You want me to teach you to drive?"

"Oh well, I know how to drive. Sort of. I mean, I know the principles of it."

"Then..."

"I need to be able to actually do it."

"I see." Grantaire considers him for a moment, his eyes unreadable. Then, he shrugs and draws the door open a bit more. "Would you like to come in?"

Enjolras pushes past him gratefully and goes into the apartment. He's been here before, but never alone. It seems momentous.

"Thank you," he says.

Grantaire looks bemused. "What are you thanking me for? I haven't done anything yet."

"But maybe you did and you didn't know it. Maybe I'm hiding out from the cops and you gave me an alibi."

Enjolras isn't really sure what he's saying. Sometimes, Grantaire has that effect on him. He smiles his best smile and goes to sit on the couch, just to have something to do. Grantaire nods at him.

"Do you want something to drink? Water? Coffee? Vodka?"

"If you have coffee, I would love some."

"Sure."

Grantaire goes to the kitchen and pours out two mugs of coffee from the pot on the counter. He seems completely relaxed.

"Cream? Sugar?"

"Just a splash of milk, please."

Grantaire brings the mugs over. One is a lovely light siena brown, and one is black and steaming. He hands the light one to Enjolras.

"Is this good?"

Enjolras knows even without tasting that it is. He's drunk enough coffee in his life to be able to gauge these things. But he takes a sip anyway before answering.

"It's perfect, thank you."

Grantaire looks genuinely pleased. Enjolras wonders if he poisoned it or something. It seems unlikely, but who knows? Coffee is one of the best vehicles for poison, bitter as it is (thank you, Montparnasse for the education), and Grantaire probably isn't happy to have him here, so maybe he thinks it will be easier to preserve his touted deniability if the body he's saddled with is Enjolras's.

"Do you know that cyanide tastes like almonds?" he blurts out. Grantaire gives him a strange look.

"No, I didn't. Why?"

"Oh, well," Enjolras falters. "You know, if someone was going to kill you, you could give them an almond flavored thing and tell them you poisoned it, and let them die by psychology."

"I think there's an Agatha Christie story like that," says Grantaire slowly. "But you're not going to try and murder me, are you?"

As if. Enjolras wouldn't swat a fly off Grantaire's nose. It's much more likely the other way around. But he can't really say things like that without being weird.

"Maybe I'm preparing you to be my accomplice," he says.

Grantaire shoots him a crooked grin. "Are you flirting with me?"

Well, yes, always, but that's not something he can say, either. "Maybe," he says breezily. "Or maybe I just think you'd be a good criminal."

"Funny, Montparnasse always tells me that, too. Maybe I should think about a career change."

"Oh yeah!" Enjolras sets down his coffee cup. "How's your new job? What's it like being part of corporate America?"

Grantaire makes a face. "Consumerist capitalist Babylon. I feel like every day I just get closer to building a new kind of dystopian hellscape on the backs of the working people."

"Wow, you sound like me. I'm impressed."

"You're rubbing off on me."

 _I'd rub off on you anytime._ "That's a compliment!"

"But is it, though?"

"Well, I think it is. I'm one of the great orators of all time, you know."

"Who said that? Combeferre?"

"Courfeyrac."

"Figures." Grantaire scoots forward a little bit, setting down his coffee cup to join Enjolras's. "But you know, you're an orator who can't drive."

Smooth. It figures Grantaire wants to get back to business. He doesn't even like Enjolras; why would he want to sit and keep bantering with him? Enjolras hides his disappointment admirably.

"An orator who can drive in name only," he corrects. "Which could be rectified with your kind assistance."

"You sound like a form letter," Grantaire notes, but there's a little crinkle in his left eyelid, the kind he gets when he's teasing and being playful (and wow, Enjolras feels creepy and overly observant now).

"I mean it," he says.

"I know you do." Grantaire smiles at him and pulls out his phone to check the calendar. "We could meet like twice a week, maybe. That should be enough. When are you free? I can do anytime after 5-ish."

"My last class ends at 4:30 every day, so that's good. But wait." Enjolras frowns as something occurs to him. "Don't you get off work at 5? You wouldn't have time to change or eat or anything."

Grantaire winks at him roguishly. "I can eat after. And besides, I'm giving you a chance to see how wildly handsome and dashing I look in a suit."

Enjolras has to swallow for a second. He's picturing it. Suddenly, a brilliant idea comes into his mind.

"I can cook for you! If you come to my place right after work, I'll make you dinner."

"You can cook?"

"I'll have you know Combeferre said my dumplings are better than his."

"Wow. High praise."

"I know, right?"

Grantaire looks like he's mulling it over. Then he nods. "All right. If you're sure."

"I'm so sure!"

This is perfect. Enjolras will woo Grantaire with a romantic dinner and candles and whatever sexy music he can find in Combeferre's 'Courfeyrac' playlist. He'll love him for sure.

"Can you do Thursday?" he asks. That's the day after tomorrow. It should give him plenty of time to get ready.

"Sure. Your place, 5-ish?"

"Yeah." Enjolras smiles, unable to contain his excitement. "I'll be looking forward to it."

Grantaire's face looks soft, somehow, sort of peach-like and sweet. "Yeah," he says. "Me too."

\--

On Thursday, Enjolras hurries home from class to get ready. He wants to make sure that everything's perfect. Combeferre is out, probably at the phys lab studying anatomy, or at Courfeyrac's, studying, well, _anatomy_.

This is good, sort of, because it means that Enjolras doesn't have to worry about embarrassing himself in front of his best friend, but it's also bad, because the presence of another person would at least de-escalate things. Although, Combeferre is hardly less socially awkward than Enjolras is himself, so maybe it wouldn't be so helpful after all.

At any rate, he's a ball of nerves by the time Grantaire rings the bell. He trips over the rug in his haste to get the door, smashing his head on the end table, and tipping the lamp over onto the floor. The momentum also disrupts the decorative bowl of glass eyeballs that Jehan found for them somewhere (Enjolras doesn't want to know), so when he tries to stand up, he slips on them and goes flying once again.

"Everything okay?" comes a shout from outside.

Enjolras rubs his head, wondering where the broken coffee mug came from. Had he left it on the end table? "Yeah, I'm fine," he calls weakly. "The door's open, just come in!"

Grantaire comes into the apartment to see Enjolras sitting on the floor surrounded by eyeballs and pieces of broken ceramic. He raises his eyebrows.

"Did the hurricane come to town?"

"I tripped," says Enjolras.

"Well, you don't do anything halfway, do you."

Grantaire comes over, admirably avoiding all the eyeballs, and before Enjolras can realize what's happening, he's being lifted to his feet. Grantaire is so _strong_. This is giving him all kinds of feelings. Scandalous ones.

"Thank you," he says. Grantaire smiles at him. If it weren't ridiculous, Enjolras would say that there's a light of affection in his eyes, because this is what he looks like when he listens to one of Bossuet's ridiculous stories. But of course that can't be. Grantaire doesn't even like Enjolras, so why would he be feeling affection for him?

Enjolras shakes himself internally. "Why don't you come in?" he says.

"I'm already in, though."

"Like... more in. All the way in." _Hmm. That sounded sexual_. "Just. Take off your coat and sit down."

"Yessir."

Grantaire kicks off his shoes and peels off his coat, tossing it haphazardly on the couch. Suddenly, Enjolras can't breathe. Grantaire's wearing a suit all right, and it looks even better than he's imagined. It fits him just so, flattering his tall, muscular frame without overpowering him. His shirt buttons are straining just a bit, as are the sleeves, the collar is undone, and the tie is loose, revealing the dip between his collarbones, which, come on. How is that legal?

"I, um," he stammers.

Grantaire looks puzzled. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nope. Just siddown."

Grantaire doesn't. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something shiny and crinkly.

"I brought you a thing," he says.

Enjolras can't help it. He lets out the most hideous squealing sound. "You did?"

"Yeah." Grantaire puts the object into his hand, and there's a spark where their fingers touch. "It's just a special truffle. Musichetta brought a bunch of them back from who-knows-where, and Bossuet turned out to be deathly allergic to them, but anyway, they're really good. And I know you like sweets, so there it is."

"Oh my goodness."

Enjolras is practically speechless. He's incredibly touched that Grantaire remembers his love for sweets, although, to be fair, everyone else probably knows, too. He does make it fairly obvious, what with all the sugar he consumes on a daily basis.

More than this, though, he's amazed that Grantaire brought him a present at all. It's enough to make him want to faint. If it weren't weird, he would want to keep this chocolate forever, just as a memento. As it is, he'll probably end up keeping the wrapper.

"Thank you so much," he says. His voice is wobbly. Grantaire looks at him in concern.

"You like it, right?"

"I do. I really, really do." Enjolras dares to reach out and squeeze Grantaire's arm briefly, just a friendly, professional, I’m-in-love-with-you-and-you-have-no-idea type of touch. "Thank you," he says again.

"It's no problem."

_His voice is like chocolate. If he were candy, he's be the specialest truffle in the world._

Okay! Enjolras needs to get things moving. If he dwells on this, he's going to be useless for the entire night. "Go sit," he says. "I'm going to finish cooking really quick, and then it'll be all ready."

Grantaire smiles at him, and goes over to the couch. Even with this loss of proximity, Enjolras feels like he's about to dissolve in a cloud of Grantaire-induced sparkle dust. It's really not fair. Love is so hard when it's one-sided like this.

In order to take his mind off things, he hurries into the kitchen. It's not much of a kitchen, really, and is only a countertop away from the living room, but he feels more even-footed if he's doing something. He starts to put the finishing touches on his masterpiece, but before he can even get the saucepan off the stove, Grantaire comes over to the counter and leans over it.

"Do you need help with anything?"

 _Yeah, with my massive crush on you._ "No, I got it. Just a second, and I'll be all done."

"Okay." Grantaire doesn't go back to the couch, though, just stays and continues to watch Enjolras work. It's the most distracting thing in the world.

"What are you cooking?" he asks perfectly calmly, as if he doesn't know he looks like a damn work of art leaning on the counter like that. Enjolras holds up his stirring spoon.

"One-dish pasta. But you have to guess what ingredients are in it."

"Hmm." Grantaire pretends to think. "I'm going to hazard a guess and say… noodles."

"Smartass." Enjolras flicks the spoon at him. "I'll have you know, I used rotini, actually."

"Aren't those still noodles?"

"Are they? I thought they were like macaroni."

"Macaroni are noodles, too!"

"Okay, fine." Enjolras dishes up the pasta, sliding a bowl in front of Grantaire and one in front of himself. "Since you're such a noodle expert, you can be my taste tester. Tell me if this is a good recipe or not."

"Okay, but be warned, I watch the Food Channel in my spare time. I go hard."

"Just eat!"

Grantaire grins at him, and lifts a forkful of pasta to his mouth. For a second, Enjolras can't tell what he's thinking. Then, his face changes, and he lets out a long, low-pitched groan.

"Oh my god. You _made_ this?"

Enjolras smiles at him, pardonably smug. He knows he's a good cook; it's one of the talents that he's most proud of. Well, that and cleaning. Actually, come to think of it, he's pretty good at housework in general. Maybe he should think about taking this to the people. He could lend his services to those who were too busy or otherwise unable to do it themselves. Now, if only he could drive so he could get to their houses.

"Does that mean you like it?" he asks, completely unnecessarily.

Grantaire groans again. "Like it? I love it. I'm _in_ love with it. I want to marry this pasta and have little rotini babies with it."

Enjolras hums, pleased with himself, and grabs his own bowl to join in the feast.

Their conversation flows easily after this. Grantaire tells Enjolras about his day at work, and Enjolras gushes about how amazing his favorite professor is. It feels so comfortable, like they've been doing this forever, even though it's really the first time they've had dinner one-on-one like this. It's almost enough to make Enjolras forget that Grantaire doesn't like him.

They stay there for a little while afterwards, just chatting and letting the food settle. It's so nice. Enjolras thinks he's perfectly happy like this. Of course, he loves to spend time with any of his friends because he loves them all dearly, but this is lovely in a different way. His heart has settled down now. Instead, he's feeling a warm glow all through his body, starting from his chest, and reaching down to the tips of his fingers. Isn't it amazing that one man, a man who doesn't even like him, can have such an effect on him? He's going to treasure these moments, put them away in his little box of memories to take out and cherish in later days.

All too soon, Grantaire gets up from the barstool, bowl in hand.

"Well! Should I wash up?"

"Oh, no! I can take care of it!"

"No, no. Come on. The cook doesn't do the washing up, you know."

Enjolras relents and hands his own dishes over. Grantaire saunters to the sink and starts to wash away, making light conversation the whole time.

"And that's why I believe that dinosaurs could be resurrected," he says, setting the pot in the dishwasher to dry (a habit that Combeferre has instilled in all of them). “All the nay-sayers can say nay all they want, but I know the truth. Me, and the government scientists.”

Enjolras has heard this before. "You've been talking to Combeferre, then?"

"What? No, Combeferre's been talking to _me_."

Enjolras has to laugh. "You guys are nerds," he says fondly.

"What, like you're not?"

"Touché."

Grantaire dries his hands and goes back into the living room. "Are you ready?" he asks.

Enjolras isn't, but he doesn't want to say so. He nods, and comes over to put his shoes on.

"Are you sure you're okay with me driving your car?"

"I offered, didn't I?" Grantaire squeezes him on the shoulder, more physical contact than he's offered all night. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. It's only a five-speed."

That's one more than Combeferre's, though. Enjolras sticks out his chin and tries to look brave. He's about sixty percent sure that it works.

"Let's go."

\--

Grantaire's car is surprisingly clean. The carpet is fluffy, the seats are spotless, and there's even one of those air-fresheners hanging from the mirror, _Strawberry Vanilla_ scent. Enjolras is impressed, and says so.

"I especially like the air freshener. Those are my two favorite flavors. Isn't that a nice coincidence?"

"Yeah, coincidence," mutters Grantaire.

Enjolras barely pays attention. He's too busy trying to figure out how to move the seat. As it is, he's so far away that he has to reach the clutch with his tippy toes.

"How long are your legs, anyway," he mutters.

Grantaire laughs at him, which isn't helpful, but he does point to the bottom of the seat to show him where the adjuster bar is. Well, who would have ever thought of that? Enjolras scoots himself forward with great dignity.

"I'm ready," he says.

"Are your mirrors adjusted?"

"Mirrors?" Enjolras points at the front mirror. "That one's all I need, right?"

"Um." Grantaire looks hesitant for the first time, as if realizing how inexperienced Enjolras truly is. Enjolras doesn't think this is an appropriate reaction to his question, but then again, he's the first to admit there's a lot he doesn't know.

"So, I do need the others?" he asks.

"Yes, well it would be helpful." Grantaire points at the switch on the door that controls the side mirrors. "It really will make it easier for you, so you won't have to stress as much. Why don't you adjust them how you like them?"

"Okay." Enjolras fiddles with the switch for a minute until he can see out of the mirrors. And it really does make things clearer, actually, he can see the curb next to which the car is parked masterfully close.

"What is that, like three inches?"

Grantaire tips his chin up, proud. "I'm pretty good at parallel parking."

That's another thing to be insecure about, then. Enjolras lets out the parking break, pushes in the clutch, and starts the engine. It's disturbingly loud, but that's fine. He can handle that. He sets the shifter into gear and sets his foot on the gas to pull out of the parking space.

And, immediately stalls.

"What? Why did it do that?"

"You took your foot off the clutch too fast. It needs to be slower." Grantaire points at the tachometer, now reposing at zero. "Wait until this little guy gets up to two before you take your foot off completely, and you'll have better results."

"Okay." Enjolras takes a deep breath and tries again. This time, he doesn't stall, but the gas makes a tremendous revving noise, and he shoots out of the parking spot. Terrified, he slams on the brakes. "What the hell?"

"It's okay." Grantaire puts a light hand on his arm, calming him immediately. Enjolras feels like a skittish horse. It's a little embarrassing, but then again, he's a physical person. There shouldn't be any shame in that.

"It feels so out of control," he says.

"It's not. You stopped with no problem, see?"

"I did, but… Okay. Why did it do that?"

"You just stepped on the gas a little too hard, is all. Which is not your fault. Goku has a very sensitive gas pedal."

"Goku?" Enjolras stops, frowns. "Your car is named _Goku_?"

"Yeah, Gavroche named him."

"Because his power is over 9000?"

"Because Gav's a twelve year old– wait. How do you know that?"

Enjolras looks away, catching his lip between his teeth. He's just stuck on embarrassing himself today. Well, nothing for it. "I saw it on the Internet," he says. "It was a meme."

"A really old meme," says Grantaire, but he's looking slightly awed, as if this is the best news he's heard all day. It's unnerving. Enjolras needs to go.

"Okay," he says. "I'm going."

Grantaire nods, so he slowly lets out the clutch again, pressing the gas pedal down ever so lightly. This time, he starts almost normally. It's not in the least bit smooth, but even with all the jerks and bumps, it feels like a victory.

"I did it!" he crows.

"Yeah, you did. That was good."

Grantaire smiles at him. He looks like he doesn't quite know what to make of him, like he wants to come closer and find out.

_If only he would._

Enjolras needs to stop crushing so bad. It's impossible. Grantaire would never like him back. He's probably just looking at him like that because he thinks it's weird that he's so awful at driving.

Okay. He has to get better. He's going to show Grantaire once and for all that he's good for something besides being pretty.

"Where should I go?" he asks.

"Oh." Grantaire looks uncertain now, glancing up and down the road as if it will give him an idea. "Where do you want to go?"

_Anywhere, as long as I'm with you._

"I'm not sure. Direct me."

"You want me to tell you what to do?" Grantaire's voice holds a shred of disbelief.

"Well, yes. I want you to be in charge."

It should be an innocent statement, but Enjolras knows he's blushing, because he can't help imagining his words in a different context, one with Grantaire pressed flush against him, holding him close, directing him in quite another manner. Oh god, he should not be thinking these things.

"Sorry," he says precipitately, because it's probably obvious that he's imaging Grantaire naked without his permission.

Grantaire cocks his head. "Why?"

Oh, okay. He's giving him an out. That's actually very nice of him, and more than Enjolras deserves.

"I'm not always as imposing as I look," he says, fiddling with the shifter. It's an admission he's been wanting to give for awhile, actually, but now that he's been given the chance, it's a little awkward and hard to figure out what to say.

Grantaire looks askance. "I wouldn't have thought so. You always seem so sure of yourself."

"Well, sometimes." This wasn't exactly what Enjolras had meant. He searches for a way to express the idea. "I think– being sure of myself and wanting to be in charge all the time are different. Well, I'm not even always sure of myself, actually, but I can still usually pull myself together to act as confident as possible. And I do always end up being in charge of things, somehow, but it's not because I like being all dominant or anything. I want to be equal with people, not above them."

"So you're fine with letting someone else take the lead?"

"I mean, to an extent. Obviously, I want to be equal with them, too."

"Well, of course." Grantaire looks thoughtful. He must really have thought that Enjolras was a little bossypants who needed to have his way all the time. It's disheartening. Enjolras wonders how many other wrong ideas he has about him.

"So!" he says, falsely bright, because he can't keep dwelling on this. "Where should I go?"

Grantaire points straight ahead, down the open stretch of street. "Here," he says. "We probably should stick close for now, but why don't you cruise around the neighborhood? That should help you with starts and stops."

That's what Enjolras needs help with most (well, that's a lie– he needs help with everything), but he's scared. He always stalls at intersections, and then people get mad and honk at him, and then he panics, and then Combeferre has to come pick him up and take him home and calm him down. It's bad for everyone involved, honestly.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "What if I stall?"

Grantaire shrugs. "Then you stall. It's not the end of the world if someone has to wait for you. You wait for people all the time, right?"

He's not wrong, but it feels different, somehow. "What if I cause an accident?"

"I can tell you with fairly accurate certainty that you won't."

"Okay." Enjolras clenches his jaw, trying to put the steel back in his spine. "I'm going, then."

Grantaire smiles at him. He looks proud, and Enjolras wants to think that it's for him, but it's probably just because Grantaire's pleased with his own powers of persuasion. Still, it's encouraging enough that Enjolras puts the car in gear and starts the gas.

Amazingly, he doesn't stall. He starts jerkily, revving up a little too much, and begins to move down the street. Before long, Grantaire speaks up.

"Time to shift. Can you put it in second gear now?"

Enjolras can't think how to obey. It's all too much. He tries to put on the brake so he can think about it a little more clearly, but the car stalls and comes to a dead stop in the middle of the road.

"Oh no," he says. "I'm sorry."

Grantaire puts his hand on the shifter, perfectly calm. "Can you push the clutch in for me?"

Enjolras can do that much. He presses the clutch, and Grantaire puts the car in neutral.

"Okay," he says. "First of all, don't apologize. You did really good with that start. And then you even got up enough speed that you would have to shift. It was good."

He's so encouraging. Enjolras wants to cry. "I didn't shift, though. I stalled."

"That's okay. It happens." Grantaire waits for a beat before continuing the lesson, as if to gauge Enjolras's reaction. "Do you want to know why you stalled?"

"Was it... the clutch?"

"Right. Good, you know!" Somehow, the words don't sound sarcastic. "Remember, you have to push the clutch in when you shift gears _and_ when you brake. If you don't, the car won't do what you want."

Shift and brake. Okay. Enjolras will never forget that now. He sits for a second to get his nerves under control, then takes a deep breath and grabs the stick.

"I'll try again," he says.

Grantaire's smile makes it worth all the anxiety. Or at least, it almost does. Driving is scary, but it's not quite as bad with Grantaire by his side.


	2. Second Gear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras has a panic attack in here, so watch Out

The next time Grantaire comes over, he brings a glass eyeball with him. At first, Enjolras thinks that it's one of his, but then he realizes that it's different, darker colored glass, and a red iris.

"What's this?" he asks.

Grantaire closes his fingers over it. "It's for you."

"But why?"

"Because all of yours are normal eyeballs. They need a centerpiece."

"I..." Enjolras doesn't really know what to say. It's weird, but this is such a sweet gift. He doesn't think he should be as touched as he is. "Thank you so much," he says.

"It's nothing, I mean it's just a souvenir from an anime convention that I went to with Joly and Bossuet, nothing much, really."

Is Grantaire embarrassed? Enjolras is intrigued. He doesn't think he did anything wrong, so he doesn't know why this would be. He wants to find out more.

"So you like anime?" he says.

"Not as much anymore, but Joly and Bossuet do. And they needed a ride."

Enjolras smiles at him teasingly. "I see. You're the mom."

"Only in that regard," says Grantaire. "I think Joly is much more of a mom than me in pretty much every other area of life."

Enjolras laughs. This is true. He has a sudden rush of affection for his friends, beautiful, lovely people whom he loves so much. He really needs to hang out with them more on his terms instead of theirs. It's not that he doesn't usually want to see them, he does, but somehow, they're always the ones who have to extend the invitation. Well, once he gets his license, he can drive and see them all he wants.

Right now, though, he can start exactly where he is. Grantaire is here, and it's time to feed him nice food and try to persuade him that a visit in the Enjolras (slash-Combeferre) house isn't all that bad.

"Come on," he says. "I made curry today!"

"Curry?" Grantaire follows him into the kitchen, sniffing the air. "Ooh, I smell it. It smells spicy."

Enjolras is struck by a terrifying thought. “Oh no, I forgot to ask. Do you like spicy things? I thought you did, because I saw you using all that Sriracha last time we all ate out, but if not–”

"Enjolras, it's okay. I do like it."

Thank goodness. Enjolras smiles at him, utterly relieved. "That's good," he says. "It's good for you, you know! What is it, spice goes to the liver?"

"Well, my liver does need all the help it can get. But isn't it the lungs that goes with spice?"

"Ah, that's right." Enjolras clicks his tongue, embarrassed. "Combeferre keeps threatening to make me a chart. I think he should."

"So he's still into traditional medicine, then?"

"Extremely. He wants to go intern at his aunt's acupuncture clinic this summer."

"That's pretty cool."

Enjolras dishes up the curry and rice and sets the dishes in front of them both. He even puts out a dish of yogurt sauce, just on the offchance Grantaire was lying about liking spicy food.

"I admire him so much," he says. "He's so smart and passionate. Even the smallest things interest him. But he's not selfish about it. Everything he does, he does for others. Even with this new traditional medicine thing, he wants to try and implement a more cross-cultural approach in his clinic to see if he can reach more people this way."

"You love him a lot." There's awe in Grantaire's voice, and fondness, and… jealousy? Why in the world would he be jealous? Enjolras must have heard wrong.

"I love all my friends," he says. "They're all precious to me."

"Even if they don't get their aunts to teach them traditional Chinese medicine out of a love for learning and the wish to better humanity?"

Grantaire is probably joking, but he still sounds a little bitter, so Enjolras can't let this comment fly.

"Yes," he says, much too seriously, but oh well. "You know, everyone is precious in a different way. I love Combeferre because he's Combeferre, but I don't like Cosette any less because she's not. I love Feuilly's passion just as much as I love Jehan's wit and Courfeyrac's kindness. Everyone is different, so I love them for themselves. It wouldn't be fair for me to expect someone to be something they're not."

Grantaire looks like he doesn't quite know what to say. His face is unreadable. Enjolras thinks sadly that he must have messed something up, but for the life of him, he doesn't know what it could be. Was he too enthusiastic? Sometimes, he does get that way when he's talking about the people he loves. His conversations about Grantaire himself have often been quite emotional.

"Anyway," he says. "I love all my friends. So, um, that's that. Why don't you eat your food before it gets cold?"

Grantaire, bless him, lets it go with that, and turns his attention to the curry. He's scarcely taken a single bite before he's looking at Enjolras with stars in his eyes.

"What is this? How on earth?"

Enjolras smirks at him. "So it's good?"

"It's amazing. I'm going to die, here. This is my last breath."

"Well, I've heard spicy food is good for your lungs. Maybe that would help you."

"It's going to help me, all right." Grantaire takes another bite, speaking around a mouthful of potato. "This is heaven."

"And you're an angel."

Grantaire stops eating to stare at him. "What?"

Oh crap. He hadn't exactly meant to say that aloud.

"Nothing. Just, um, I'm glad you like it. Anyway, how was your day?"

( _Smooth, Enjolras. Very smooth_.)

"My day was pretty good," says Grantaire cautiously, still staring. Enjolras gives him a too-wide smile.

"Tell me what you did."

"Well, okay." Grantaire swings into his story. Soon, he's lost all traces of discomfort, and is just talking normally. Enjolras is so glad. The last thing he wants is to make Grantaire feel like he can't talk to him.

They sit for almost two hours, eating slowly and talking quickly. Grantaire doesn't even say anything rude or mocking, and Enjolras manages to stop himself from putting his foot in his mouth. It's so perfect. Enjolras is still wondering when the other shoe will drop and Grantaire will profess his hatred and leave, but as far as things go now, he thinks he can enjoy the moment.

Finally, though, Enjolras can't delay anymore. He's run through half a dozen excuses in his head to keep them here, but none of them seem to fit. And besides, if Grantaire doesn't want to be here, there's no way he's going to keep him against his will. So when Grantaire reaches for their dishes and takes them over to the sink, Enjolras doesn't say a word of protest, just spins around on his barstool so he can watch him washing up.

He thinks he's being circumspect about it, but of course Grantaire notices. "Are you staring at me?"

"N-no," Enjolras stutters, embarrassed at being caught out.

"Really?"

"I'm just observing your dishwashing technique. I have to make sure it's a technique, you know."

( _What? Come on, Enjolras._ )

Grantaire turns around from the sink to grin at him. Enjolras's heart lurches violently.

"And, guess what, it is a technique," he says weakly.

"That's good. I'm glad my techniques satisfy you."

"Was– was that an innuendo?"

"Well, that depends. Did you want it to be?"

"Yes. I mean, no. Well. If you want." Enjolras stops, blushes, looks away. He needs to stop this. Poor Grantaire, he's probably so uncomfortable now. "Anyway!" he says, much too brightly. "Are you sure you don't mind doing the dishes?"

"I told you, you're the cook. You shouldn't have to wash up."

"Yeah, but are you sure you don't need help?"

"I'm sure. It's okay, Enjolras, for real. Let me do this for you."

Grantaire's voice is much too serious. It doesn't match with what they're talking about. If Enjolras was deluding himself, he would say– no. It's a moot point.

"Thank you," he says, trying to sound flippant, but his voice is gravelly, and he knows he's blushing harder than ever.

"It's nothing."

"No," says Enjolras, not even sure what he's saying or why he's saying it. Why is he disagreeing? This is weird. He wants to change the subject, diffuse the situation somehow, but he doesn't know how. He's not the most socially suave even in the best of times, and this certainly isn't that.

Grantaire still hasn't turned back to the sink. Enjolras has no idea why, because if he did, it would do away with all the static electricity. But no, he's just standing there, staring, and dripping soap suds all over the floor as if he has no idea that his hands are even wet.

"Enjolras..."

Enjolras wants to say something, but his mouth is too dry. He tries to swallow.

“Grantaire, I–”

Grantaire comes over, crossing the floor in one long bound. It's so quick that Enjolras barely registers what's happening until Grantaire is flush in front of him, clasping him around the waist with one soapy hand.

Enjolras isn't sure he's breathing. Grantaire's hand is warm and strong and big enough that it covers most of his lower back. He should feel small, helpless, maybe, but he doesn't. He's held, surrounded in the best way. Unconsciously, he shifts closer.

“Grantaire…” he whispers.

Grantaire presses against him, bends down, and Enjolras thinks dizzily that he's about to kiss him. He can't really process it, but he's going to go along with it, because this is the best thing that's ever happened to him, pretty much. He tilts his head up, lets his lips part–

–And then Grantaire reaches around behind him and grabs the empty soy sauce container.

"I need to wash this, too," he says.

Oh.

Okay.

Enjolras isn't disappointed, he's _not_ , but he can't help feeling like this is a terribly prosaic happenstance. So Grantaire was just getting the empty bottle? That's easy. In fact, he could have just asked Enjolras to bring it to him. It's too puzzling. He can't think of anything to say, so he just looks up at Grantaire and does his best to smile.

"So nice of you."

"Yeah, well." Grantaire isn't quite meeting his eyes. "I try."

He goes back over to the sink and washes the bottle. Enjolras stands, arms limp, head spinning, trying to get a handle on himself after what just happened.

That wasn't a normal thing to do, right? Enjolras wouldn't have done that to anyone, unless he was actively trying to get into their pants. But then again, Grantaire isn't normal. He's possibly one of the weirdest people Enjolras has ever met. Maybe, to him, there's absolutely nothing wrong.

That must be it. Grantaire is just very confusing, and although he has his own reasons for doing things, they're all locked up securely in his own head. It's not his fault that Enjolras is hopelessly head-over-heels for him and overanalyzes everything he does. Enjolras has figured it out. He wishes he didn't feel quite so disappointed, though.

\--

Their driving that night is uneventful. Enjolras stalls several times, but he's getting better at starting smoothly. They venture further away from home, this time, making it all the way to the gas station a couple blocks away before Enjolras gets scared and decides they need to go back.

When they pull up in front of Enjolras's apartment (about 18 inches from the curb, but at least it's better than last time), Grantaire smiles and touches Enjolras's arm.

"You did good today."

Enjolras glows at the praise. He's not exactly pleased with his performance, but he knows he's getting better. So he's not going to discount the compliment. He would never admit it, but he loves validation, when he can get it. No one really bothers to tell him when he's doing a good job, most of the time, just taking it for granted that he'll get the job done, so Grantaire's constant words of affirmation are really doing a number on his heart.

"Thank you," he says. "I'm trying my best."

"I know you are. And you're doing so good."

Enjolras ducks his head, blushing. He's embarrassed, yes, but he also feels like melting, like he wants to roll into Grantaire's lap and nuzzle up against him. If Grantaire touched him right now, he's pretty sure he would start purring. This is really not good. He needs to stop this immediately.

"Thank you again," he says. "I really appreciate all of this more than you know."

"It's nothing. I'm just glad to help."

"Well, if there's anything I can do in return..."

"You're already making me food! Seriously, don't worry about it. Just keep doing your best."

Enjolras doesn't reply as they get out of the car. But he waits by the driver's side door so he's face-to-face with Grantaire when he comes around the car to get in.

"I was glad to see you tonight," he says. "And not just because you're helping me. I was really happy to spend time with you."

Grantaire surges forward and hugs him. He's so big and well-muscled, and his arms are like trees, so Enjolras feels warmed and protected and completely secure. It's a wonderful hug, as good as Combeferre's, even. He rests his face against Grantaire's chest and cherishes the moment.

"I was glad to come over," says Grantaire. Enjolras can feel the vibrations of his voice.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm always happy to see you."

Enjolras knows he's about to do something ill-thought out, but it's as if his body moves all on its own, and he can't stop himself from doing it. Almost in slow motion, he stands on his tippy toes and plants a light kiss on Grantaire's cheek, sweet and unassuming, but still probably one more kiss than Grantaire expected or wanted.

Grantaire lets go of him in surprise (and most likely, disgust).

"Enjolras..."

Enjolras is blushing down to the tips of his fingers. He stutters out something that might or might not be coherent, and fairly dashes away to get back to the safety of his own apartment where he can groan to himself about his poor decision making skills.

Grantaire doesn't come after him. Why would he? Still, Enjolras is disappointed. He slinks into the apartment, gloom and despondency on every feature. Fortunately, Combeferre is back from Courfeyrac's and is sitting on the couch, so he goes over to cling onto him.

"Hi, 'Ferre."

"Hi Enjolras. Do you wanna talk about it?"

Enjolras shakes his head and worms his way deeper into Combeferre's arms. He's so blessed to have lovely, cuddly friends like this.

"Tell me about your day," he says.

Combeferre doesn't press. He starts at the top of his morning and goes on, and finally ends up describing the last case he'd been assigned to, a man who'd lost a leg in an accident with a truck.

"And it was disgusting," he says with glee. "All that tissue. All of us were just staring."

"'Ferre," interrupts Enjolras. "Do you mind? I might actually die."

"Ah, right. Sorry, I got a little carried away. Okay, no more gross medical stories."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, sweetie. Now, are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

Enjolras does. He tells Combeferre about the night's events, ending with how he'd kissed Grantaire and ran away. He thinks he tells the story pretty well, but Combeferre just chuckles.

"Seriously? And you're worried?"

"Well, yes. Did I forget to say so?"

"Sort of. It's okay, I inferred it. But, the real question is _why_ are you worried?"

"We were getting along so well before this. I thought he might even start to like me a little. But now I acted all weird, so I'm sure he's back to hating me again!" Enjolras tucks his head under Combeferre's chin, closing his eyes to shut out the outside world. Maybe if he just stays here, he can be protected from all the consequences of his actions.

Combeferre lets him stay there, but he doesn't seem to be taking the situation seriously enough, or actually, at all. He mumbles something about "silly lovesick kittens" and laughs. It's rude. Enjolras makes a disapproving sound and pokes at him.

"Don't dismiss this! It's a serious problem!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." Combeferre kisses him on the head. He also begins to pet his hair soothingly. Enjolras's hair is one of the shortcuts to his heart, and Combeferre knows this well. "What do you think you should do about this, then?"

"Die."

"No, you shouldn't die. Come on, something less dramatic, please."

"Apologize?"

"Maybe. But I don't know. Did he seem mad?"

"I couldn't really say," confesses Enjolras. "I ran away so fast. But he's probably mad. Why wouldn't he be?"

"Why _would_ he be? You kiss people all the time."

"I mean, I do, but only if I know they're okay with it. And I don't know if he is."

"Trust me, he is." Combeferre's voice sounds so fondly exasperated that Enjolras is sure he's missing something. What it could be, though, he has no idea.

"How do you know?" he asks.

Combeferre sighs, but he doesn't stop petting Enjolras's hair, so he can't be all that upset. "Grantaire is a very physically affectionate person," he says. "He likes it when people touch and kiss him. You know this. And he likes you, so of course you wouldn't be an exception to that."

"He doesn't like me, though!"

"You're ridiculous." Combeferre grabs hold of Enjolras and sits him up so they can look eye to eye. He even takes off his glasses for a more focused look. "Listen. You worry too much. Just text him tonight, something cute and normal, and you'll see that everything will be fine."

"How do you know?"

"Trust me. I'm a doctor."

"Are you ever going to get tired of saying that?"

"Probably not, no."

"Okay." Enjolras grabs his phone off the side table and opens up his messaging. He waves it under Combeferre's nose. "What should I say?"

"Quote a poem at him."

"No! For serious! I need something that won't make him think I'm weird!"

"Then just say hi. Tell him something cute. I know you can do it; you send cute texts to me and Courfeyrac all the time."

"Hmm." Enjolras goes to work on his phone, tongue poking out in concentration as he taps away. People always tell him he types like a grandma, and this is probably true, but it's for the best now, since it gives him more time to work on what he's saying. Finally, he smiles, and presents the finished product to Combeferre. "What do you think?"

"Hi, waving-hand emoji, happy-face emoji," reads Combeferre. "I hope you got home safely tonight, even with your heavy clutch, winky fuckboy emoji. I'm going to look up the cat video you mentioned, because I need to fur-sue as much happiness as possible, LOL. By the way, thank you again for the eyeball! I put it right on the top of the bowl. I hope you have a lovely night, smiley-face emoji."

Enjolras shifts around uncomfortably. It's weird hearing his own words being read aloud. Does he really sound like that when he texts?

"How is it?" he asks.

"It's adorable. You're a natural." Combeferre presses send before Enjolras can stop him, and holds the phone out of his reach until it's sent. "Come on, stop worrying. You're going to be just fine."

"Am I really, though?"

"Promise. Now, go change into comfy clothes and put your phone somewhere where you can't see it. We're going to watch that new conspiracy theory documentary and not think about boys until it's over. Okay?"

"Okay."

Enjolras smiles and throws his arms around his perfect, wonderful best friend. No matter what happens between him and Grantaire, he knows that as long as he has friends like these in his life, he'll be just fine.

—

Grantaire does end up texting back that night, proving once and for all that he's not mad. He and Enjolras message back and forth until Enjolras can't keep his eyes open anymore and has to send a quick goodnight text before flopping into bed and falling asleep before his head can hit the pillow. It's already half past three, and he has an eight AM class the next day, but it's worth it to talk to Grantaire.

They continue to text the next day, too. Grantaire is hilarious when he texts, witty and eloquent, and able to send strangely appropriate memes at the drop of a hat. It's wonderful talking to him, and not just because Enjolras's heart clenches up and skips a beat whenever he sees his name show up on his phone. He loves to talk to all his friends, but he hasn't talked to Grantaire as much as he has to the others, so that makes it much more special as well.

By the time the next driving lesson rolls around, Enjolras feels like he knows Grantaire much better. They've been messaging back and forth for days now, talking about everything from aliens to deep secrets to their individual hopes and dreams. Somehow, it's a little easier for Enjolras to put aside any lingering fears of Grantaire disliking him when they're texting like this. After all, if Grantaire didn't want to talk to him, he could just stop replying. He doesn't, though, and even tells Enjolras that he's excited to see him when they meet up that evening.

He's not the only one. By the time he's due to show up, Enjolras is thrumming with nervousness and anticipation. All of this correspondence has only made him fall more deeply in love, so he's feeling a lot of excess emotion right about now.

As soon as he hears the knock on the door, he goes to fling it open, feeling like his heart is going to break out of his chest. And then,

"Hi, Enjolras!"

Enjolras stares in confusion. "Bossuet? Marius?"

"Sorry to come over unannounced," says Bossuet cheerfully, not sounding sorry at all. "We just got hungry, see. And Grantaire said you're a good cook, so we wanted to see if that was true."

"Oh. Well, come in, I guess." Enjolras pulls the door open wider and gestures them inside, confused and not a little disappointed. It's not that he doesn't want to see them, because he loves them dearly and would want to visit with them anytime, but right now, he's gotten all his hopes up for an exciting, possibly romantic night, and now he has to adjust. Well, that's okay. He can do that.

"Is Grantaire still coming?" he asks. Bossuet makes what he probably thinks is a seductive face and winks with both eyes.

"You bet. He's parking right now, so he should be up any minute."

Right on cue, there's another knock on the door. Marius goes to open it, anxious as always to make himself useful.

"Hi!" he says.

"Hi Marius! Long time no see!"

Grantaire comes in and kicks off his shoes. He shrugs off his coat, too, and nope, Enjolras is never going to get used to seeing him in a suit.

"Hey," he says, hoping his voice sounds natural.

Grantaire comes over to him. He's carrying a little stuffed cat with a red bow around its neck, and grinning cheekily.

"I brought you something."

 _What?_ Enjolras fights the urge to squeal and cover his face with his hands. "You brought me this?"

"Sure did. It reminded me of you."

He puts the cat into Enjolras's hands, still smiling, but looking a shade nervous now, as if he's afraid that Enjolras will be offended to be compared to a child's toy. Enjolras inspects his gift for a second, appreciating it, then squishes it to his chest in abject happiness.

"It's so cute," he says. "Thank you so much. I'm beyond flattered that you saw this and thought of me!"

Grantaire is staring at him sort of slack-jawed, as if he's never seen him cuddling a stuffed animal before. Come to think of it, he probably hasn't. He's never been in Enjolras's bedroom, so he hasn't seen the zoo reposing on his bed. Enjolras has mentioned it in passing, but hearing about it and seeing it are two different things, and seeing this here is something else entirely.

Oh no. What if he thinks it's weird? Enjolras is 21 years old, a grown man and a mature and sophisticated university student, and some people might think it's silly or childish for him to have a plushie collection. Maybe it is, but he likes having something soft to cuddle with on days when he's feeling particularly anxious or overstimulated. His stuffed animals always make him feel better, so he doesn't see anything wrong with that.

"Anyway, I'll treasure it," he says, trying to sound casual. It's such a sweet gift, so thoughtful and adorable that it's hard to stay calm, but he does his best, anyway. Grantaire clears his throat.

"You're, ah. You're welcome. No problem, I mean. I'm glad you like it."

Enjolras goes to put the cat on the couch. He's going to put it on his pillow tonight, but for now, he wants it to sit with all of them and absorb everything that's going on.

"Don't sit on it," he warns Bossuet, who sticks out his tongue and laughs at him.

"I already almost did. Grantaire had it sitting on the passenger seat. Don't worry, I won't make that mistake again."

"Grantaire told him that if he made it smell like a butt, he would draw little Bossuet faces on all the eggs," pipes up Marius happily.

Enjolras frowns. "That seems like a very specific, yet not very scary threat."

"Classic Grantaire," says Bossuet. "Don't worry, I didn't make it smell like a butt."

He didn't. It's the opposite, actually– it smells like Grantaire, all warm and musky and nice. This may or may not be a reason for Enjolras to want to sleep with it tonight. No one can say.

"Guys, I'm hungry," says Marius, going over to the kitchen and poking around, as if searching for scraps. Enjolras goes to join him.

"Dinner's ready anytime you guys are."

"I'm so ready," says Grantaire. Bossuet nods his agreement.

"Please, Enjolras. The children are starving."

"By children, do you mean you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, no one could ever accuse me of promoting child hunger." Enjolras turns to fetch dishes and silverware, thanking his lucky stars that he decided to make soup today. His only soup pot is huge, so there should be plenty to go around.

He dishes up quickly, setting out the bowls on the counter. There are only three barstools, but that's okay. He can stand up while he eats. It'll be easier for him to fetch things that way, anyway.

"Come on, then," he says. "Please enjoy! I'm kind of proud of how this one turned out."

"What is it?" Bossuet comes over and picks up the closest bowl. He wafts the fumes towards him like a chemist. "Hmm. Smells… soupy."

"What a good analysis." Grantaire picks up his bowl and performs the same wafting motion. Enjolras points at him.

"I'm expecting a better one from you, Mr. Food Critic."

"I'll do my best not to disappoint you, then."

Grantaire picks up his spoon and takes the tiniest of bites while everyone watches him expectantly. It doesn't take long to get a reaction. His eyes light up, and he waves his spoon triumphantly.

"This is amazing! Cooked to perfection! Level with me, did you steal this from a restaurant?"

Enjolras can't help preening a little bit. He knows Grantaire is probably being facetious, but he still feels a butterfly blush creeping up his face.

"You're too nice," he says.

"But that wasn't a comprehensive review," argues Bossuet. "In fact, I think it was worse than mine."

Enjolras pretends to think. "I'll accept it. It was very sweet and complimentary, so it passes the test of commentary."

"Is that how it is?"

"Yeah. No one ever said the test had to be objective."

"Eat up," interrupts Grantaire, who's making tremendous inroads into his bowl already. "This will seriously change your life."

Marius and Bossuet apply themselves to their soup, and let out a synchronized groan of (probably) delight.

"This," says Bossuet, then doesn't bother to finish his sentence. Enjolras is pardonably proud of himself. This is the kind of positive reinforcement that he likes (as if there's a kind he _doesn't_ like).

"I'm glad it's okay," he says.

"Okay, he says. _Okay_." Grantaire gestures with his spoon again. "Are you being this way on purpose?"

Enjolras smiles sweetly at him. "Eat up."

\--

Bossuet and Marius insist on coming with Enjolras to watch him drive. Enjolras really doesn't want them to, but there's nothing he can do about it, because by the time he's gotten his shoes on, they're already downstairs. Grantaire notices his hesitation and lays a hand on his arm.

"Is this okay? I can tell them to go away if you want."

Enjolras sighs. "It's okay. I'm sure they just want to see me freak out and fail, like y– like everyone else does. They'll get tired of it soon enough."

"That's not true." Grantaire sounds uncharacteristically serious. His eyes, too, are intense, practically burning. Enjolras looks up at him.

"What?"

"We don't want to see you 'freak out and fail.' You're precious to us. We would never take any pleasure in you being upset."

"What– what," fumbles Enjolras, utterly confused. "Precious?"

"Yeah." There's a defiant look on Grantaire's face, like he's daring Enjolras to challenge him, but making sure he knows that there's a fight coming if he does. It's a common look for him. Just, usually concerning a different topic.

Enjolras doesn't challenge him. He looks at the floor. The carpet is looking a little worn out; he should probably buy some area rugs or something. Is it gauche to put rugs on carpet? His heart is hammering away so hard. All these thoughts at once, failure, and carpet, and Grantaire, and his friends downstairs in the car, and it's so much, too much–

"Hey."

Enjolras's head snaps up. Grantaire is looking at him with something akin to concern. Oh, that's not what he wants, no. He attempts to smile.

"What?"

"What are you thinking right now?"

"Carpet," blurts Enjolras. Grantaire looks confused.

"Carpet?"

"I mean, we always have it, so we don't really care about it, but wouldn't it be nicer to have a hardwood or something? If we had the choice, you know. Why would we choose carpet? Unless we could put something over it to make it more like something else. But then why would we want it at all?"

"Some people like carpet." Grantaire's voice is so gentle. It's almost enough to stop Enjolras from launching himself at him and hanging on in a death-grip embrace.

Almost, not quite.

Grantaire looks down at Enjolras, who has his arms clasped firmly around his waist, and runs a tentative hand through his hair.

"Hey, there. You okay?"

"Mhm."

"Okay."

Grantaire holds him for a minute longer, brushing his fingers across the hair at the back of his neck, and not trying to talk. It's comforting and calming and so, so nice. Too nice.

Enjolras pulls free and looks up with his brightest smile. "Sorry about that. Drivers' nerves, you know. It's a condition that affects at least 30% of people yearly on the national average."

He's so afraid Grantaire is going to push it, but bless him, he doesn't. He just pulls a face and lets it go.

"Only 30%?"

"I did say 'at least.'"

"Well."

Grantaire still seems strangely hesitant, and Enjolras has no idea why this should be, because he's one of the best (or, depending on perspective, worst) when it comes to abrupt mood changes in a conversation. Maybe he's creeped out by Enjolras. Could that be? Should he apologize?

"I'm sorry I jumped at you," he says. Grantaire flaps his hand.

"No, no. I liked it."

"You _liked_ it?"

"Oh. I mean, it was fine, yeah. I'm just happy to be here, you know?"

Enjolras really doesn't know. He wants to ask for clarification. But before he can, Grantaire sweeps on, looking a little flushed in the face.

"Anyway, are you okay with driving tonight? You don't have to."

"No, I do." Enjolras nods at him, determined. "If I can't even do this, how am I supposed to get my license? I have to do my best, or it's not worth anything."

"That's not exactly a healthy point of view, you know."

"Huh. That's what Combeferre always tells me."

"Well, you should trust him. He's a doctor."

"Yeah, okay." Enjolras tugs at Grantaire's pocket, not daring to reach inside. "Can I have your keys?"

"They're in my coat," says Grantaire, just a little breathy. He's probably annoyed at this breach of personal space. Enjolras quickly takes his hand away.

"Okay. Then, that's easy. Let's go?"

"Let's go," affirms Grantaire. He slings his coat over his shoulder and heads out the door. Enjolras wishes he had a movie camera to capture that. (Then again, he wishes he could capture everything Grantaire does. He could make a film about it, and show it as an insight into human nature of the most attractive man in the world. It would definitely be a hit at Cannes.)

They head down together, talking lightly. Grantaire is just describing his belief in Pokemon as a model for a utopian society, when Bossuet and Marius come to meet them at the base of the stairs, looking extremely put out.

"You guys left us waiting!"

"You're the ones who went down early," points out Grantaire. "I didn't have anything to do with that."

"You could have given us your keys!"

"I mean, you didn't ask."

"I didn't think I'd need to! Who even locks their cars in this day and age?"

"Wait, you guys don't lock your cars?"

Bossuet and Marius both shake their heads, looking much too complacent. Grantaire seems torn between amusement and worry.

"Guys, that's really dangerous. Why would you do that?"

"Because that way if someone needs a place to sleep, they can go in there."

"They wouldn't know to check, though, would they?"

"Well then, if no one's checking, then it's not dangerous either." Bossuet folds his arms, looking smug. "Check _mate_ , you skeptic."

Grantaire gets his keys out and hands them to Enjolras. "Here you go. Take us away from these doofuses."

"No!"

Bossuet and Marius leap for the car and scramble into the backseat almost as soon as Enjolras unlocks the doors. They strap themselves in, and wave with shiny, happy faces.

"Come on, we're waiting for you! Take us on a ride!"

"What are we, your parents now?" grumbles Grantaire, but stops and turns red as soon as he meets Enjolras's gaze. He, too, gets into the car and straps himself in.

Enjolras settles into his seat and locks the doors, then fiddles with his surroundings to get everything adjusted. It takes so much time. When he buys his first car, he's going to pick one of those tiny ones. He undoes the parking break, pushes in the clutch, and starts the engine.

"Am I good?"

"You tell me." Grantaire nods at the road ahead of them. "It's night time, isn't it?"

"Ah." Enjolras quickly turns the dial to switch on the headlights. It's always so hard to remember that. "Okay. Am I good now?"

"Yes."

"All right, then."

He releases the clutch and presses on the gas, a little too unbalanced, because the engine roars, and the car jerks forward in fits and starts as if it's having a spasm. Bossuet and Marius scream.

"Watch it!"

"What the heck are you doing?"

"I'm sorry!"

Enjolras quickly brakes. He puts the car in neutral, and sits still, trying to calm himself down. If he's anxious, then it will be that much easier to mess up. He can't startle the others again.

Meanwhile, Grantaire has turned around in his seat. "Not another word out of you guys," he says menacingly. "I mean it. If you scare him, I'll kick your butts."

"Okay, okay. Sorry."

Neither Bossuet nor Marius seem very penitent. Enjolras can't blame them– they don't know the extent of his anxiety, so they have no idea how stressful this whole situation is for him. He wants to tell them something reassuring, but he can't seem to find the words. Never mind, that's okay. He just needs to do his best.

"I'm going," he says.

Grantaire smiles at him. "Great."

Surprisingly enough, the drive starts mostly without incident. Enjolras is keeping a tight rein on himself, so even though he feels like he might fly apart any moment, at least he's driving more or less decently. Grantaire seems to notice that something is up, but he doesn't say anything, and Enjolras is grateful for this. Reassuring him would be more than he could do right now.

Things are going so well that they venture out further from the neighborhood, and head into the bigger streets, where the traffic is thicker. At first, things are fine. But then, Enjolras becomes aware of all the cars around him, all the angry, stressed-out people who have places to be, and he, himself, driving badly and blocking their way. He loses all the confidence he'd gained up until now (which hadn't been much).

"I'm messing up," he says.

"No, you're not. You're doing just fine."

Grantaire's words don't have much of an effect, because the driver in the right-turn lane next to Enjolras honks loudly and rolls down his window to yell, eyebrows making an angry slope down his forehead.

"Speed up, asshole!"

"I, I can't," stutters Enjolras. He knows it's unreasonable, but he's afraid of shifting into fifth gear. The shifter is so stiff, and it's hard to get it into place. He doesn't want to get stuck, or make the car explode, or anything like that. Come to think of it, he has the same problem with reverse. That's less likely to be a problem right now, but the realization is enough to make him queasy. What if he has to back up, and he causes a pile-up on the road?

Grantaire puts a hand on his arm. "It's okay. Ignore him. Can you get out of neutral?"

Enjolras puts the car in first, which is good, but then he tries to start and stalls. He tries again, and stalls even quicker. Now he's been here for maybe ten seconds, and there are cars starting to line up behind him. They need to go, and they’re making it very _clear_ that they want to go but he's blocking the way, sitting here with a clutch that's too heavy and an engine that won't seem to stay on.

"I can't," he says. "It won't go. I can't."

"You can."

One of the cars behind them honks. Enjolras cringes. Grantaire quickly leans in closer and puts his hand on Enjolras's, covering it. "Don't listen to them. They can wait. Just think about what you need to do."

Enjolras nods, trying to breathe. There are tears starting at the corners of his eyes, but he can't think about that right now, can't think about anything but starting the car and getting out of here, getting out of the way of these people who _won't stop honking at him_. He tries to start, and stalls yet again.

"I can't do it. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I can't!"

"Okay." Grantaire's voice is soft and patient. It draws Enjolras's attention, scattered though he is. "Let's do this one step at a time. Can you push in the clutch for me?"

Enjolras can't feel his feet. He's not sure if he inhabits a physical body, or if he's just the world's most inconvenient apparition. Still, he must manage to push the clutch, because Grantaire nods at him.

"Good. Now, can you turn the key?"

Enjolras turns the key. The car comes to life with a reassuring chk-chk sound.

"Okay. You're doing good." Grantaire's voice is flower-petal smooth and soft. "Now, you can do this. We'll wait until the light changes again, hold on… okay. Press on the gas as lightly as you can."

Enjolras does. The car makes a horrible revving sound, but the tachometer climbs, so that's good. Probably. Grantaire puts a hand on his arm.

"That's right. Good. Now, let out the clutch, slowly, slowly. It's okay."

Enjolras lets out the clutch. To his immense and infinite relief, the car jerks forward, finally out of the intersection. He doesn't get a chance to enjoy his success, though, because the driver directly behind him zooms up to come parallel with him, and rolls down the window.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she screams, pointing at him furiously. "You held us all up forever! Some of us have places to be, you know!"

There’s a vicious honk from the other side, and Enjolras whips his head the other way to see who his new antagonist is. There’s a red Buick there, although he couldn’t say for sure where it came from. Is this a three-lane street? It must be. He cowers in his seat, unsure of which way to turn.

“Pay attention for once in your life!” comes the shout from the right.

“Go back to high school!” yells the driver on the other side.

Enjolras thinks he's crying, and probably babbling something vaguely apologetic, but he can't really be sure of anything except that he can't breathe and he feels like he's dying. Is it medically possible for his chest to explode? Probably. He doesn’t know. He wants to roll up his window so he doesn't have to listen to the other drivers anymore, but he can't remember how to operate the switch. Dimly, he's aware of Marius and Bossuet leaning out their respective windows in the backseat to tell off the cars around them. That's not good. Hopefully, they'll be okay. He can't think how to stop them, though.

"Hey."

That's Grantaire's voice. Enjolras tries to turn towards it.

"What do I... what can I..."

"Press the gas pedal."

"What?"

"It's okay. I have the steering wheel. Just press the gas pedal for me."

Enjolras tries to get back into his body. He doesn't quite make it, but he does manage to press the gas, and the car starts off down the road. Grantaire continues to give him calm, measured instructions, and he's not really sure how it happens, but soon, they've pulled over in a safer, less fraught section of the road.

"You did it." Grantaire sounds happy. Maybe. At least, his voice is kind, which is more than Enjolras deserves. "Push in the clutch for me one more time."

Somehow, Enjolras does, and Grantaire puts the car in neutral. Now, they're safe.

"Good job. I know that was hard."

"It, no, I did so bad..."

"No, you were good. Amazing." Grantaire touches him again, a ground. "Do you think you can get out of the car? We'll take you home right now."

Replying takes too much energy, but Enjolras blindly pokes at his seatbelt until it comes undone and wobbles out of the car on unsteady legs. He steadies himself on the edge of the door, trying to breathe. The air feels so cool, but it won’t seem to go into his lungs, and he's dizzy.

"Woah, hey."

Suddenly, there's a pair of strong arms around his waist, holding him more-or-less upright. Grantaire has caught him before he can fall over.

"Thank you," he mumbles.

"Of course."

Grantaire maneuvers him into the car, but fortunately doesn't leave his side. He wraps his arms around him and holds him steady, cuddles in lieu of a seatbelt. It's perfect. Enjolras wonders how he knows to do this. He closes his eyes and hides his face against Grantaire's shirt, hoping to quiet some of the noise in his head this way. Grantaire rubs his back and lets him stay smushed up against him.

"Bossuet's going to drive," he says. "We'll be home soon, okay?"

"Kay."

He doesn't talk the rest of the time, just stays, strong as a fortress, and holds Enjolras together. At one point, Bossuet tries to turn on the radio, but Marius shushes him.

"Too loud!"

Enjolras is grateful for this. When he's feeling this bad, sometimes it's easy to get overstimulated, so even the sound of the road is a lot to deal with. Grantaire seems to notice this after awhile. He turns Enjolras's head so that the side of it is pressing against his shirt, then puts his hand over his free ear to shut out the sound.

"Better?"

"Mhm."

It really is. This way, he's not so assailed by senses. If he closes his eyes, it's even almost bearable.

They stay like this the whole way back. Enjolras loses track of time, but eventually, they come to a stop, and Grantaire slowly takes his hand away.

"We're here."

Enjolras raises his head. Bossuet and Marius have turned around from the front seats, and are staring at him with well-meaning interest. Harmless though they are, it's still too much. Eye contact hurts.

"Take me upstairs," he says.

"Okay. Hang on."

Grantaire gets him out of the car somehow, and picks him up lightly. He must only be using one hand, because he still manages to get the keys from Bossuet and lock the car. It would be impressive if Enjolras could think about anything but imminent doom.

They all make their way upstairs, Grantaire carrying Enjolras, and Bossuet and Marius trailing close behind. Enjolras doesn't really want Bossuet and Marius to be there, not that he doesn't love them, of course he does, but it's too many people, and too much to think about. They don't leave, though, and he doesn't know how to ask them to.

Fortunately, the journey isn't too long, and soon Combeferre meets them at the door. Someone must have texted him to let him know what's going on. Enjolras can thank his lucky stars for that. He opens his eyes in greeting.

"Enjolras!" Combeferre stretches out his arms. "Here, let me take him."

Grantaire hands him over easily. It's not embarrassing to be passed around like this, even though he feels a bit like a baby, because he trusts his friends enough that it makes it all okay.

"'Ferre," he says weakly.

"Shh, shh. It's okay, I have you, I'm here." Combeferre looks over his head, glancing at the others. "Do you guys want to come in, or…?”

Bossuet and Marius look like they'd like to, but Grantaire shakes his head at them. "No, I think we'd better not."

"Okay." Combeferre nods at them gravely. "Thank you. Text me when you get home. I'll message you later, okay?"

"Sounds good."

They leave, shutting the door on their way out. Now left alone, Combeferre looks down at Enjolras, eyes full of love and concern.

"Number?"

"Six."

Combeferre exhales slowly, most likely in relief. All things considered, a six on the How-Bad-Is-Enjolras-Feeling Scale isn't too much of a problem. Sure, it's not fun, but they can deal with it.

"Okay," he says. "What do you need?"

"Stay with me."

"I can do that."

Combeferre brings Enjolras into his room and helps him get ready for bed. Then, he tucks them both in, spooning him from the back, and giving him Grantaire's cat so he can hold and be held both. It's barely past nine, but Enjolras wouldn't protest even if he had the strength. He knows that both of them could use the extra rest.

He drifts off only a little later, soothed by Combeferre's quiet breathing, and the not-quite-feeling-not-quite-sound of his heartbeat. It's not relaxing, because he can never be truly relaxed after times like these, but it's close enough. Even so, he's probably going to have bad dreams. He always does. But, Combeferre is here to wake him up and snuggle him until he stops shaking, and that's all he could ask for and more. For now, he's content.


	3. Third Gear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They do the dippy doo in this chapter, just so you know. It's like super vague and bland, so it's probably not bad, but if it makes you uncomfortable, please skip it, because it's Inessential to the plot. (you'll know when it's coming lmao)

Enjolras texts Grantaire the next morning, thanking him for everything he did the night before. He's a little embarrassed– he always is, after a Bad Time– but he's not about to pretend that it didn't happen. That's not the way he works.

Grantaire doesn't reply for a bit. Enjolras is horribly afraid that he's scared him off, and spends an entire lecture with his mind half on the professor and half on a contingency plan to win his favor back in case of the worst case scenario. All this is for nothing, though, because when he checks his phone after class, he sees that Grantaire has messaged him back.

_It's no problem, I'm just glad you're feeling better. You had me worried for a little bit. Make sure to rest today!_

He was worried? That's either really good or really bad. Enjolras is tempted to opt for bad, though. He wishes Courfeyrac was there. There's no one like him for figuring these things out. Still, though, he has to reply, so he goes to buy a coffee while he thinks about how to answer.

As soon as he gets inside the coffee shop, it hits him. Grantaire likes coffee. He should bring him some. That would he super cute, and a subtle thank-you for being so amazing and wonderful. It's foolproof! Smiling happily to himself, he types out a message to Combeferre.

_Will you drive me to Grantaire's work building? I want to bring him coffee so he'll fall in love with me._

Combeferre's message comes a few seconds later, brief and to the point.

_He already loves you. And also, no._

Well, that was probably to be expected. Or, wait. No. What?

_What do you mean he already loves me?_

_He does. Now, I love you, too, but I have patients waiting for me. I'll talk to you later. Have fun!_

Enjolras stares at his phone, just gaping for a few seconds. The nerve! How can Combeferre drop a bomb like that and then not follow up on it? He's so indignant that as soon as he gets his coffee, he texts Grantaire back, just to prove a point.

_I'll do my best! :D How are you? Is your day going well? I've been thinking of you lots today!_

Grantaire doesn't reply. Enjolras feels vindicated, in a way, but he's also rather hurt. So much for Combeferre's hypothesis after all.

They don't talk until the next time they meet for driving lessons. Enjolras is too embarrassed to try messaging Grantaire again, so nothing happens. He tries to get Combeferre to tell him more, but he won't, maybe thinking that he's said too much already, and time passes slowly. It does pass, though, and eventually, it's time for Grantaire to show up again.

All day, Enjolras is afraid that he won't. What if he scared him off? He spends the day in a muddle, trying to convince himself that no matter what happens, it'll be fine because he's okay with any outcome. But, he's not, really. Grantaire is more important to him than ever now.

At around 5:15, there's a knock on the door. Enjolras leaps to open it, hoping desperately that it's Grantaire, and not just an itinerant drug dealer or something (Montparnasse has told him that criminals don't generally use the front door, but this doesn't stop him from suspecting it each time). It takes way too long to get the door open, but when he does, his hopes are rewarded, as he's greeted by the beautiful sight of Grantaire's smiling face.

"Hi!" he says.

"Hey, Enjolras." Grantaire holds out a small, oblong package. "This is for you."

"You brought me another present?" Enjolras wants to squeal, or jump up and down on the couch, or call Courfeyrac and tell him and Combeferre right away. But he does none of those things, because Grantaire is looking at him with a hesitant (or could it be shy?) expression on his rugged face.

"Is that okay?"

"It's more than okay. It's wonderful." Enjolras stops, breathes. "Not because I'm materialistic, you know, I mean, I do love presents, but it just means so much that you would bring this. I'm honestly so touched. You thought of me, and it makes me so happy!"

"Open it," Grantaire urges him. "Go on. I want to see if you still appreciate it when you see what it is."

"Come in, then."

Enjolras pulls Grantaire inside by the sleeve, pushes him onto the couch, and sinks down beside him. He's not about to leave them both standing on the doorstep. Grantaire goes without a fuss. He even seems to be smiling, although that could just be Enjolras's imagination.

"Open it," he says.

"Okay, okay!"

Enjolras goes to work on the wrapping paper. He's the type of person who's always careful to take the tape off without ripping anything, because he likes to smooth it out, fold it up neatly, and reuse it later. It also gives him a chance to appreciate the wrapping, and this particular wrapping job is very nice, too. Grantaire is as artistic as always, even in this smallest of tasks.

When Enjolras takes the paper off at last, he's left holding an iPhone box. He looks at Grantaire and raises his eyebrows.

"You got me a _phone_?"

"It's not a phone. That's the only box I had lying around."

This makes Enjolras feel a bit better. He wouldn't be able to justify anyone spending that amount of money on him. Grantaire is still looking at him expectantly, so he pops the lid off the box, and gasps. Inside, is a dainty necklace. It's just a stone on a thin chain, but it's glittering in the light like a star.

"It's beautiful," he breathes.

"You like it?" Grantaire sounds so relieved. He plucks it and holds it up. "I know you have one from Combeferre, but I figure you can never have too much luck, so. This is a jade pendant to protect you."

Enjolras holds out his hand and takes the necklace. It's small and elegant, and not long or bulky enough to bother him. It's exactly his style.

"So beautiful," he says again.

“It's not too much, is it? I know you like pretty things, but you're also kind of ascetic (no offense), so if it's too flashy or anything–”

"No, it's perfect." Enjolras holds it out, smiling. "Put it on me."

Grantaire gulps. "On you?"

Oh no, Enjolras has made a mistake. Of course Grantaire wouldn't want to do that. It's way too intimate.

"I mean, you don't have to," he says, trying not to sound disappointed.

"No, no. I want to."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Turn around."

Grantaire pushes on his shoulder until he turns and holds the necklace up around his neck. This way, Grantaire won't have to reach around him.

"Here," he says.

"Hang on."

Grantaire brushes Enjolras's hair away from his neck and piles it over his shoulder. As he does so, he twines through it, letting the strands fall between his fingers like water. Only once before has he ever tangled himself up in Enjolras's hair, and honestly, that's a tragedy. It feels perfect. Enjolras wants to push back against his hand for _more_ , but he knows this would be weird. Still, he can't suppress a little shiver. Grantaire notices, and stills his hand immediately.

"I'm sorry. Did I pull your hair?"

"Even if you did, I like that. But no. I just really– it feels nice."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he regrets everything in life that has led to this moment. _Way_ too much information, Enjolras. Way to go. Grantaire is probably going to walk out the door any second, once his words sink in.

"You like having your hair touched?" Enjolras must have some amazing karma in his back pocket or something, because Grantaire doesn't sound upset, merely curious, and a little bit excited.

Enjolras nods, thanking all the powers that be. "Only people I'm comfortable with, but I like it a lot. Combeferre brushes it for me sometimes, and Courfeyrac likes to style it, and if I'm really anxious, they just sit and pet me, because it calms me down."

"So you're a cat."

"I mean, yeah."

"I'll try and keep you away from my curtains, then," says Grantaire lightly, and continues to brush his hand through Enjolras's sleek curls. "Is this okay? You're comfortable?"

"Of course."

There’s no question about it. Enjolras really does feel like a cat; he thinks he could purr from contentment right now. Grantaire seems to sense this, because he pets him for a little longer, but finally, unfortunately, he pulls his hand away.

"I'll keep this in mind for… Well. Anyway. D-do you have the necklace?"

Enjolras had forgotten he was holding it. He brings it up around his neck again.

“I have it.”

Grantaire takes it from him, brushing his fingers in passing, and attempts to fasten it, leaning in close enough that Enjolras can feel his warm breath tickling the back of his neck. He fiddles with the necklace, apparently unsuccessfully, because he makes a little huffing sound and laughs ruefully.

"Sorry. It's a stiff clasp."

Enjolras is happy that the clasp is stiff, all truth be told. It's nice sitting like this, up close and personal, with Grantaire's hand resting on the base of his neck. He could stay here like this for hours.

They don't, though. That wouldn't be practical. Grantaire clasps the necklace with a pleased huff, and presses on Enjolras's shoulder again.

"Turn around. I want to see how it looks."

Enjolras turns. He tips his head back in an exaggerated fashion magazine pose, gesturing dramatically at the necklace.

"Is it beautiful?"

"It is."

Grantaire sounds surprisingly sincere. Enjolras is startled into normalcy once again.

"Well then, that's all thanks to you, isn't it? I mean, you're the one who picked it out."

"I actually didn't."

Enjolras puts a hand to his heart with a mock gasp. "You mean, this is a _regift_? I'm hurt!"

"No, no! I bought it just for you!" Grantaire looks so worried. It's adorable. Since when is he so concerned about Enjolras's opinion, though? Strange. Maybe he's just really passionate about his gift-giving. Enjolras smiles up at him teasingly.

"Then, please tell me the story. What is the provenance of this lovely piece?"

Grantaire looks almost dazzled. "How do you know provenance?"

"My best friend is a walking Wikipedia. I know things."

"Ah. Makes sense." Grantaire sits up straighter and clears his throat. "Okay, well, here we go. It's not much of a story, but I'll tell what there is."

Enjolras smiles at him, all encouragement. He even shifts a little closer, all because he wants to hear better and be a good audience, of course, not because even half an inch closer to Grantaire is progress.

"I'm listening," he says.

Grantaire begins his story. He'd said it wasn't much, but really, he knows how to spin a tale so well that he probably could have started off with much less material and still made it entertaining. He describes how he'd been walking back from the homeless shelter where he volunteers (Enjolras's heart skips a beat at this point), and he'd decided to take a shortcut.

"And it was kind of a weird part of town," he says. "There were all these fancy-schmancy stores, but obviously, it was really poor at the same time. So the people living there can't afford anything around them, but random tourists can come along and buy whatever they want. It's gross."

Enjolras feels his blood starting to boil. "That's bullshit," he says hotly. "I mean, I would expect to see such stratification in a city as gentrified as ours, but it seems like the process is getting worse."

"You're telling me. I was getting more and more annoyed the longer I was there. And then…”

Enjolras scoots even closer. "What?"

"I met some assholes."

Grantaire's voice is deep and solemn. Obviously he's being a little overdramatic, but just as obviously, he's still annoyed. For a long time, Enjolras hadn't realized that his humor was a way of coping with difficulties. But now, he knows that it's possible to infuse a bad situation with levity sometimes, without diminishing the seriousness in any way. It's a good lesson. He could probably stand to pay attention.

"I was so mad," Grantaire is saying. "These guys were dripping with privilege, but they were trying to get a discount from this woman who was selling things on the street. She was doing her best, but there were three of them to one of her, and there was a language barrier, too, and it was bad all around. Just nasty. And I don't like that, so I went over to help."

"Really?"

Grantaire nods. "I told the woman that I'd buy whatever it was for twice the asking price, because it was worth it. So she said okay, and the assholes left, all grumbly and pissed. It was hilarious."

Without thinking, Enjolras grabs at Grantaire's hand and squeezes it in both his own. "That's amazing! You're so wonderful to step in like that. I hope it ruined the assholes' day!"

"I hope so, too," says Grantaire. His voice is strained, and Enjolras would be afraid that he's uncomfortable, only he looks like he's in the process of ascending to heaven at this very moment, so it's probably okay. Just to be safe, though, Enjolras lets go of his hand.

"So, did you know what it was you were buying?"

"I found out after the assholes went away," says Grantaire. "The woman explained that she'd been selling some old family jewelry because she had no use for it, and she needed the money. Apparently, it had come from her husband's side of the family, so she wasn't attached to it or anything. But yeah! We talked a bit, and she was really nice. I told her I would give it to you, and she said she hopes it keeps you safe."

Enjolras doesn't quite know what to say. If he hadn't already been completely in love, he's now reached a point of no return.

"I'm so happy," he says.

Grantaire has that look again, the one that Enjolras can't quite figure out. He looks fascinated and charmed and a little puzzled, but mostly intrigued. It's confusing. If it weren't silly to say so, Enjolras would think that this would be a good time to confess his feelings.

He doesn't, though. Instead, he stretches up and kisses Grantaire on the cheek, light and quick as anything. Then, he stands up quickly, and turns away from the couch.

"I'm going to give you the most delicious dinner in the world," he says, bouncing over to the kitchen.

Grantaire doesn't reply. When Enjolras turns around, he sees that he's sitting with a stunned expression on his face, touching his cheek as if he can't quite believe it's there. Is he that upset about being kissed? Enjolras had thought it would be okay, but maybe he assumed too much. He turns around again, despondent. So he messed up again. Just typical.

He stays in the kitchen for a bit, puttering around aimlessly while he tries to decide what to do. Should he apologize? Maybe that would make Grantaire feel weird. But no. He can't just keep stepping all over his feelings like this, and then not acknowledge it. He needs to make this okay.

"Grantaire," he says.

Grantaire looks at him, startled. It's as if he's just been broken out of a reverie.

"Yeah?"

"I, um."

Enjolras isn't sure where to go from here. There's such a gap between what he wants to say, and what he knows how to say. He decides to just talk and see where that takes him. Maybe it will be successful.

"I'm sorry to keep being all touchy-touchy with you. I do that with people I'm comfortable with, so I sort of just did it without asking what your boundaries were. I'm sorry. Um, so. What are your boundaries? I don't want to cross them again."

Grantaire gets up from the couch and comes over to the counter. Now he looks earnest. Oh, this can't be good. Enjolras ducks his head, ready to be chastised.

"Tell me," he says quietly.

Grantaire casts about for a second, looking for words. Then he looks Enjolras right in the eyes.

"I have some boundaries, but they're the ones you know already, being purposefully hurtful, telling me that I'm unlovable and worthless and whatnot, you know. I promise you, you didn't cross any of those. You can be as touchy-touchy as you want. I don't mind."

"Really?"

"Really. I like it."

Enjolras would probably have a minor spasm over this, but his mind is occupied elsewhere. There's something in Grantaire's statement that bothers him, and he wouldn't be Enjolras if he didn't try to have it out right there.

"You know," he says. "I don't want to overstep here, but you said you don't like it when people call you ‘unlovable and worthless.’ That's really specific. Are you… are you okay?"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess. It's just The Angst, you know?"

"Oh."

Enjolras knows about Grantaire's depression, of course. He doesn't need a clinical degree to see it. And he doesn't want to say that he understands completely, because although he has struggles of his own, he obviously doesn't share the same experience. But he wants to understand to the best of his ability, and maybe help as much as he can (to the extent that it's possible– he knows there's only so much that another person can do) if Grantaire will let him.

"I'm so sorry," he says.

Grantaire shrugs. "It's okay. I'm used to it, you know."

"Yeah, but. I mean, I think you're really great, and I don’t– I mean, if there's anything I can– that is, if you want to, I mean…”

"It's okay, I know what you're trying to say," Grantaire cuts in, much to his relief. "You're sweet, Enjolras. But I don't want to burden you with my depressing problems."

"No, no!" In a fit of passion, Enjolras reaches across the counter and holds onto Grantaire's hand. "Listen! I'm here for good and bad and everything else, even if you think it's depressing. You know, that's what friends are for. I want to hear all your problems, if you're comfortable sharing them. And I want to be a part of your life, just as you're part of mine. It's important! You're important. Not just to me (even though you really are), but to the world! Nothing would be the same without you, so please…”

"What?" Grantaire's face registers blank astonishment, eyes wide and jaw slack. "Enjolras, what are you saying?"

"I want to be your friend. More than anything. I know you didn't like me, and I still don't know if you do more than tolerate me now, but if you'd allow it, I'd love to be a part of your life, permanently."

This is only part of the truth. It's true, friendship is the most important part of any relationship, and Enjolras knows that if they were friends, he would be happy with that. Friendship comes before romance, always. But he can't deny that his feelings aren't that simple. He feels something different than friendship for Grantaire, something that is almost certain not to be returned. He doesn't want to spill this and make Grantaire uncomfortable, though, so for now, he's going to leave things as they are.

But, maybe he's already gone too far. Grantaire looks like he's about to fly out of his skin. 

"You thought I didn't like you?"

Of course. He's offended that Enjolras would come right out and say it. But was it wrong? He shouldn't have to apologize for this, right? Maybe he should.

"I'm sorry…” he begins.

"No, don't." Grantaire flips his hand so that he's holding Enjolras's now. It's oddly calming. "I'm not mad. I was just surprised, that's all. Why did you think I didn't like you?"

"Well, because you would always dismiss my beliefs. And you would make fun of me all the time. And then you would hit on me just to embarrass me and make it clear that you thought I was less than desirable. It was like high school all over again."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm not mad. Don't worry, okay? This is important. I had no idea I was making you feel so bad. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, I know I hurt your feelings a lot, too. I wasn't always the nicest. So I thought I deserved whatever you did to get back at me."

"But, but!” Grantaire looks flabbergasted. He flaps his spare hand helplessly. "Enjolras, you should know, I would never want to hurt you! I wasn't trying to punish you or anything. I just didn't know!"

"I'm sorry for not saying anything, then."

"No! Enjolras, stop apologizing! Can't you see I'm not blaming you for anything? This is not your fault in any way!" Grantaire slows down and takes a breath. He's obviously trying to moderate himself, which is thoughtful, because he must know that Enjolras gets scared when people raise their voices outside of rallies and protests and other such politically charged situations. "I'm just trying to figure this out," he says in a more conversational tone. "Why did you put up with me, then?"

Finally, an easy question. "Because I like you. I want to be your friend."

"Oh, Enjolras."

Grantaire's face is going through some worrisome contortions. He looks like he's trying to control it, but that's just not happening. He doesn't say anything else, either. Enjolras isn't going to apologize again, he _isn't_ , but he's downright anxious now.

"Are you upset?"

"No. Not with you, at least. I'm mad at myself. I can't believe I've been doing this to you all this time. And I can't believe you would want to be my friend after all this."

"It wasn't always bad. There were times when you were really lovely to me. I know you're a wonderful person. There are so many reasons why anyone would want to be your friend."

"Like _what_?"

"Your brilliance and wit. And your kindness, which you really try to hide, but I know it's there. And your talent, and your humor, and the way you're so good with people. And so much more, Grantaire, you're so good, so amazing. I love– I mean, we all think so."

"Really?"

"Yes! I mean it, I really do!"

"Thank you." Grantaire looks him in the eye, serious to show that he means it. But then he frowns. "I'm sorry, though. You're the one who needs reassurance right now, not me. And I'm making it all about myself."

“It's okay.”

"It's not okay. I don't want to walk all over your feelings again. I'm so sorry."

"Then, I accept your apology?"

"Well, okay." Grantaire comes around the counter and into the kitchen. He reaches out his arms. "Come here."

Enjolras doesn't say a word. He doesn't need to. He figures the way he fits himself up against Grantaire and wraps his arms around him is enough. Grantaire pets his hair sweetly.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "I can't make up for the way I acted, but from now on, I'll try to be better. Because the truth is, I don't dislike you. It's quite the opposite, actually. I really want to be in your life, too. So if you want (and I know this sounds twee, but go with it), let's be friends."

Enjolras smiles against Grantaire's chest, eyes closed in bliss. He's so happy, he thinks his heart will break. Certainly, there's a pain in his chest that feels suspiciously like the birth of tears. This moment is what he's been waiting for forever.

"I'd like that," he says.

Grantaire kisses him on the forehead. It feels like a benediction.

"I'm glad."

\--

Enjolras decides to drive back to the intersection that had scared him so badly before. He doesn't want to let his fear hold him back from a potentially important experience. It's scary for sure, but that's probably good, because fear is only the beginning of learning. Or something. At any rate, he's doing his best to stay calm as he makes his way towards the center of town. It's hard, though.

"Do you have an aux cord?" he asks. Grantaire looks at him.

"Who do you think I am, anyway?" He takes out the cord and holds it up, along with Enjolras's phone, which has somehow appeared in his hand. "May I?"

"Of course. The passcode is 1-8-3-2."

Grantaire smiles at this. He plugs in the phone and starts scrolling through the library for music.

"Any requests?"

"No. Just play something good."

"That's a little on the vague side."

"Well, between you and me, it's a trick. This is my clever way of figuring out if you have a good taste in music or not."

"You couldn't just ask?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

Grantaire smiles again. He continues scrolling, and after a second, decides on a song. Enjolras laughs when he recognizes it.

"Really?"

"It was on your phone, wasn't it?"

He has a point there. Enjolras smiles at him quickly before turning his eyes back to the road. It's hard to look away from Grantaire's face, but he doesn't want to get into an accident, so for now, he has to. Not that it matters much; he can still see that smile in his mind.

As he drives, Enjolras slowly begins to calm down, both from the music, and from the gentle words of reassurance that Grantaire offers. He's not doing so badly, he thinks. He hasn't even stalled once.

Before too long, they've made it past the intersection. Enjolras feels a thrill of pride as he cruises through without stopping. Look at that, he's overcome his fears and made a success out of an old failure. He doesn't look away from the road, but he can feel his mouth curving up like a bow.

"I did it," he coos. "That was the place that I stalled last time, you know!"

"I know." Grantaire brushes his arm, light and affectionate. "That was really good. You're doing so well, Enjolras!"

This bit of praise shoots Enjolras's confidence way up. He feels like the most accomplished person in the world. Okay, this is it. It's time to take the next, scariest step.

"I'm going to do it," he says.

Grantaire turns to him. "You're going to do what?"

"Fifth."

He doesn't wait for a reply. Without pausing, he presses in the clutch and pushes the stick over and up– fifth gear at last. It grinds horribly, and sticks a bit, too, but he feels it click into place under his hand, and there he is, riding high in top gear. Finally, _finally_ , he's made it to fifth.

"Look at that! Do you see? I did it!"

"You did." Grantaire's smile is so genuine that Enjolras doesn't even begrudge him his next words. "You're only going 40 in a 35 zone, though. Fifth is way too high for this."

"I know. But I did it though!"

Enjolras throws the clutch back into fourth. Now that he's done it, he doesn't mind driving the rest of the way in a lower gear. This was the hardest part, and now he's ready to face the world. Now, he can do anything.

\--

Once he's returned home, Enjolras carefully parks in front of his apartment and puts on the parking brake. He doesn't make any move to get out of the car, though, not wanting to let this moment go. He's realized that this is likely his last driving lesson, since his test is soon, and Grantaire's schedule is busy for the next couple days. Honestly, it's amazing that he came here today.

It's true, they're friends now (or rather, they've just affirmed the obvious), but Enjolras is afraid that after today, things will go back to the way they were before. He doesn't think he could stand it, after having this.

So, he sits motionless in the car, not wanting to get out. Once he leaves, that'll be the end. Grantaire sits and watches him with a much-too-knowing look, but he doesn't try to get out either. Enjolras can be grateful for that.

He knows he can't stay here forever, though, much as he'd like to. Hard as it is, he's going to have to brave and cut this cord before it becomes truly unbreakable. So he silently counts to ten, and unstraps his seatbelt.

"Thank you so much," he says. "I can't express how grateful I am that you would do this for me."

"It's nothing. I'm just glad I could help."

The striking thing is that Grantaire obviously means it. He doesn't care about any nuisance or waste of time; he's genuinely happy that he did something helpful. Enjolras can see this. He's overcome by such a strong wave of love that he can't say anything, and busies himself with getting out of the car so he won't have to speak.

As if he’d been waiting for Enjolras’s cue, Grantaire gets out, too, and comes over to the driver's side. Enjolras looks up at him, his craggy face all lit up in the moonlight.

"Thank you," he says again.

Grantaire nods. "I'm glad I could spend this time with you."

"I don't want this to be the end," Enjolras blurts out before he can think about what he’s saying and how. "I don't want things to go back to how they were."

"Enjolras…”

Enjolras reaches out and grabs Grantaire's coat in both hands, as if he can keep him in his life by the force of his grip. "Don't go."

"I won't." It's a promise. Grantaire puts his hand over Enjolras's, gentle and assured. "We're friends now, right? There'll be no getting rid of me."

"I want…” Enjolras stops, furrows his brow. He needs to tell Grantaire now, because he has the feeling that this is the best chance he'll get for awhile. And Grantaire can just leave if it makes him uncomfortable. But he wants to tell him while they're just starting out, so this new, fragile friendship can be built from the ground up on communication and full disclosure.

"Hmm? What do you want?"

"I want to tell you something." Enjolras grips Grantaire's coat harder, trying to rivet himself in the moment. "Please listen? Afterwards, you can just go, but please hear me out first."

"Of course. You can tell me anything."

Enjolras tries to calm down. He counts to 27 by prime numbers, then turns around and goes backwards. It helps a little. So he imagines Courfeyrac and Combeferre cheering him on, telling him to do what he needs to do, and this gives him the courage to continue.

"Grantaire, I really like you. Not just as a friend, I mean, of course that too, but I like you in… the other way. I've liked you for a really long time. But, please don't think that I just want to be your friend because of that! I like you as a person, and I want to be in your life in whatever capacity is comfortable for you. But if this makes you feel weird and you want to not see me as much, I understand. That's why I told you now. But I had to tell you. So… that's it, I guess."

He lowers his head and closes his eyes, too afraid to see the expression on Grantaire's face. Whatever happens now, he'll be left with a clear conscience, but it's probably going to hurt, and he's scared. Tonight's not going to be fun. It's okay, though. At least he finally managed to get it out there. Maybe after awhile, he and Grantaire can be friends again.

"Enjolras."

He doesn't look up. He can't. "Just tell me, and I'll go away," he whispers.

"Don't. Enjolras, sweetheart, can you look at me?"

It's the endearment that does it. Enjolras lifts his head slowly.

"What…?”

Grantaire's still holding Enjolras's hand over his coat, but he brings his other one up to trace the planes of his face. It's amazing how delicate his rough, broad fingertips can be. He's smiling, not wide, but incandescent, lit with something more than happiness.

"I was hoping for this. It's more than I deserve, really, but you're everything I could ever want. I like you too, Enjolras. I really, really do. All this time, I've been trying to push you away, but now I can see that I shouldn't have. You're wonderful, and beautiful, and incredible, and I love you."

"You l-love…”

"I'm sorry if it sounds too strong. But it's different, you know? I like you as a person. And I love you as, well, you."

Enjolras is still too rattled to smile, but he presses his face against Grantaire's hand. "It's perfect. I feel the same. About you, I mean."

"I got that, you silly thing." Grantaire's eyes crinkle in affection. "Can I tell you that you're cute, or will you tear me a new one?"

Enjolras blushes. He has the urge to hide his face, but that would probably look even more ridiculous, so he stands firm and hopes the darkness will hide his pink cheeks.

"You can call me whatever you'd like," he says. "I only yelled at that guy last time because he was dismissing me as a silly blond whose only redeeming feature was his appearance."

"Well, that's _definitely_ not true." Grantaire goes back to caressing his face, soft and reverent. It's as if he wants to get to know him by touch alone. "You do have a lovely appearance. I could spend hours praising you and not even come close to capturing your beauty. But you're much more than that. You're strong and passionate and smart and _good_ – you're genuinely one of the best people I've ever met. And you're a good musician, and you tell terrible jokes, and you're a really amazing cook." Here, he stops and tweaks Enjolras's nose. " _And_ you're cute."

Now Enjolras really does hide his face. He burrows against Grantaire's chest like some kind of heat-seeking creature. It's too embarrassing to be praised like this, and he's shy. It's not that he doesn't like it, but it's not often that he gets compliments on anything besides his appearance, so he doesn't know how to respond.

"You're too nice," he squeaks.

"I'm just telling the truth, cutie."

"Do you… can I…” Why is this so hard? Enjolras starts to mutter assurances to himself, trying to work up his courage to take the next step. Grantaire runs a hand over his hair.

"What's that?"

Enjolras lifts his head, squinches his eyes shut, and blurts. "Do you want to come up?"

"Come up? _Ohh_." Grantaire's voice drops about an octave. "You're asking me to come _up_."

"You don't have to," Enjolras tells him hastily. "I don't want to pressure you into doing anything you don't want to do, because that would be awful!"

"Enjolras…”

"And I don't want to move faster than you're comfortable with, either! It doesn't have to be a thing. We could just talk. Or, you don't have to come up at all."

"Enjolras."

"You know, it's always okay to say no! I don't want to do anything you don't want. If you're not comfortable with this, we really don't have to– oh!"

Grantaire closes the distance between them. He's so strong that he pulls Enjolras up on his tiptoes without even trying (not that Enjolras objects at all). There's a wonderful cheeky smile on his face.

"If you don't mind, I'd really like to kiss you now."

"I don't mind. Do you?"

"No, I just said– okay."

Grantaire kisses him, right to the point. It's appreciated. Enjolras has never been kissed like this before, and he's reeling.

At first, it's rather innocent, closed-lipped and polite, but soon, it evolves past the point of all decency. Grantaire works his mouth open with persistent little flicks of his tongue until they're both gasping into each other's mouths, breaths and sighs mingling in equal part. Enjolras can't get enough. He reaches around to bury his fingers in Grantaire's wild curls.

"I love you," he breathes.

Grantaire groans and swallows his words up in a deep, passionate kiss. He pushes Enjolras back against the car, not violently, but with just enough force that Enjolras shudders and presses closer. It's perfect, everything Enjolras dreamed it would be, but it's almost 100% guaranteed to be too scandalous for the street.

"Let's go upstairs," he murmurs as soon as he can break himself away, threading his hand along the inside of Grantaire's shirt. "I want to take this off you."

"You, I– " Grantaire is so flustered that he can't speak for a second. Enjolras is rather pleased about this, so he smirks and arches an eyebrow and kisses him smugly, because look at that, he’s left their group’s resident chatterbox speechless. This proves to be more than Grantaire can take, though. He makes a _sound_ and hoists Enjolras up under the thighs, setting their bodies right against each other. "Come on, then," he growls.

Enjolras wraps his arms and legs around him like an octopus. He thinks it's beyond hot that Grantaire can pick him up and throw him around like this. Still, it might present some structural difficulties.

"You're going to carry me up like this?"

"Just watch me."

"Okay. I'm expecting a top-quality performance, m'sieur. Give me your best."

"Oh, I'll give you my best, all right." Grantaire nibbles briefly at his ear and turns his attentions down to the smooth expanse of his neck, licking and sucking the soft skin there. He's probably leaving marks, but Enjolras really couldn't care less.

"Yeah? Do you promise?"

"Yeah. I'll give you my _best_ as long as you want. Until you can't take any more. Just wait."

"I don't want to wait. I want you now."

"Someone's bossy." Grantaire kisses him again to show that he doesn't mind. "Okay, then. Let me take you up."

That's a double entendre waiting to happen if Enjolras has anything to say about it. "Take me, then," he says, low. "I'll let you take me up and down and wherever else you want to go. I'm yours."

Grantaire's eyes go wide. "Enjolras, oh my god. You can't just _say_ things like that."

"Really? Why not? It's true."

Grantaire gapes at him. He's cute when he's startled. Enjolras is a little surprised that his words could have such an effect, but he's also pleased because if Grantaire thinks _this_ is something, he should wait and see what's in store. There's a lot more where that came from, and then some.

That all has to wait, though, because Enjolras isn't in the mood to drag out the talking. He leans back in and nips at Grantaire's lower lip.

"Don't keep me waiting, here. I want you to take me to bed already."

This just makes Grantaire gape wider, but Enjolras kisses him again, slow and deep, and soon they're gone, clutching onto each other hard enough to hurt. With a remarkable effort, Grantaire turns them around and starts off to the apartment steps, Enjolras still wrapped around his waist.

"Why do you live on the fourth floor?" he grumbles in between kisses. "I'm going to be tired out by the time we get to your room."

This is quite obviously not true. Grantaire is one of the strongest people Enjolras knows. So he bats his eyelashes and smiles coyly.

"Health first! I have to be sure you get _something_ out of it when you visit me."

"I'm getting everything out of it, believe me."

Now it's Enjolras's turn to gape. His mouth falls open all by itself, probably unattractively, so he lowers his head and hides his face against Grantaire's shoulder.

"You can't mean that."

"But I do." Grantaire peppers him with little kisses until he finally looks up, blushing. "I told you I love you, and I meant it. You're so precious to me, angel. I love you, and I cherish you, and I want you in my life to stay."

"Then, that's good. Because as it so happens, that's exactly what I want, too."

"I'm glad we're in agreement for once, then." Grantaire's voice is too light to be stolid, and too gentle to be teasing. It's just like him. Enjolras kisses him on the tip of his crooked nose.

"Don't be silly. You know we're in agreement about a lot of other things."

"Are we?"

"Yes. Like, our thoughts about potatoes. And the wage gap. And hopefully, the fact that we should get inside right now so you can fuck me."

Grantaire almost drops him. "Okay," he says in a tight, strained voice. "Yes, that would be– yes."

They don't even make it to the bedroom. Enjolras grabs a beach towel off the drying rack-cum-dining chair (never before has he been so grateful for his habit of leaving things out) and lays it across the couch. Then, he sits back on it and starts working efficiently on his clothes.

"Aren't you joining me?" he asks, once he realizes that Grantaire is just watching him, and not making any move to do anything else. "Come on, I'm getting self conscious, here."

"No, you're not," says Grantaire absently, but stops there. His eyes are wide and shiny. "Dear god, do you know how beautiful you are?"

Enjolras gets up from the couch and comes over. He puts one hand on the nape of Grantaire's neck, directing his gaze downward.

"Tell me."

"How 'bout I show you instead?"

"I mean, sure. I'm a fan of the hands-on approach."

"You nerd." Grantaire's voice is ridiculously fond. "All right. Just tell me if I'm going too fast, okay?"

"I don't think there's much chance of that. But okay. And you tell me, too."

"I will."

Grantaire kisses him then, slower than he would like, but deep and delicious and very, _very_ thorough. Now he knows what it means to say that someone kisses by the book– this is perfect course reader material right here.

So lost is he in the kiss that he doesn't notice Grantaire guiding him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the sofa. He goes down with a choked-off cry of surprise.

"Oh!"

Of course, Grantaire stops immediately. "Is this okay?"

Enjolras nods fervently. It's perfect. "Oh, yes. I just wasn't expecting the couch to get there so soon, is all."

"So cute." Grantaire kisses him again, just a light peck this time, and gently pushes him back onto the couch. "Lie back, okay?"

Enjolras goes willingly. He's not exactly sure what's going to happen at this point, since heretofore, his only sexual experiences have been rushed and sloppy and not at all loving, but he's perfectly happy to find out. So far, this is better than he could have even imagined.

He's not disappointed. Grantaire takes his time arranging him on the couch, posing him as if for a painting. He touches and caresses and strokes every inch of skin, kissing his way all across Enjolras's body and murmuring words of love and praise.

"So beautiful," he whispers into Enjolras's neck. "You're an angel, you know that? My beautiful, precious angel. How could the universe ever come up with you?"

"I'm not so special, not any more than anyone else–”

"Hush." It's not demanding or rude, just a simple request. "Let me love you, Enjolras."

That's not something Enjolras wants to say no to, so he nods and lets his eyes fall closed as Grantaire continues to adore his body. It's as if he's bestowing a blessing everywhere he touches; Enjolras feels like the most special, most venerated person in the world.

He's never thought of sex as something intimate. It can be fun, sure, but it doesn't require any kind of emotion or vulnerability (besides the physical aspect, of course). His past sexual partners have always used him for his beauty, and then peeled out of his life as soon as they saw how complicated he was. And he doesn't mind this. He understands.

But now, Grantaire is pressing one hand over his heart and holding his hip with the other, kissing his shoulder, and murmuring lovely words about how beautiful and perfect and wonderful he is. It's new and different, and it's almost overwhelming, only it's so _nice_ , and he doesn't want it to stop. Now he thinks he understands why people call this making love. He's never felt so treasured in his life.

Before too long, Grantaire makes his way downwards, kissing a trail down Enjolras's stomach to the place between his thighs. He uses his tongue and teeth and lips in equal measure, licking and sucking and even bruising, but not enough to really hurt. Just enough to drive Enjolras to the edge of desperation. Despite this, he's slow and gentle about it, as if waiting for Enjolras to stop him.

That's not happening, though. Enjolras curls his fingers in the towel behind him, trying his absolute hardest not to twist them in Grantaire's hair instead. He's also trying not to make any noise, but he's always been a vocal sort of person, and this all feels so goddamn _good_ that soon he's crying out despite himself, moaning and whining and honest-to-goodness begging.

“Please, Grantaire, I need it, please…”

Grantaire looks up at him, all wickedness and sharp green eyes, although he looks a little on-edge too, and Enjolras can be grateful for that.

"You want me to…”

“ _Yes_! Please, Grantaire, stop teasing me!”

"Okay." Grantaire smiles at him, and it's still wicked, but it's also sweet. "Do you have stuff?"

"Yes, it's in the drawer under the little lamp, please hurry!"

"Okay, okay."

Grantaire sticks a tender kiss to the inside of Enjolras's thigh. Even in this heated moment, he's so loving.  Strangely enough, it makes Enjolras even more desperate. He clings onto the towel, trying to be patient.

It takes much too long, but finally Grantaire is back, fully prepared. He kisses Enjolras on the mouth, reassuring him that he's here, and what's coming will be worth the wait.

"Is this still okay?" he asks.

"Yes! I want this. I want _you_. Unless, are you having doubts?"

"No. No times a thousand. I want you more than anything."

Enjolras sighs in relief (and arousal). "Take me, then," he says.

Grantaire takes his time prepping him. Clearly, he wants to make sure that this is a good experience for both of them. Enjolras appreciates it more than he can say, because he's never had this before, never been with anyone who was so concerned about his pleasure. But he's also pretty sure he's never been this turned on in his life, and preparation be damned, he wants to _go_ already.

A beautiful, torturous eternity later, Grantaire comes up to kiss him again. He looks like he's been waiting for hours.

"Are you sure you still want this?" he asks. "Because if not, we can stop right here."

Enjolras thinks he might die if they stop here. He pulls Grantaire on top of him with all the strength in his noodly arms. "No, I want this really bad. I love you, and you're perfect, and I want you now. Please don't stop."

Grantaire grins and kisses him. "I won't."

"Good."

"Okay. Then, I'm going in."

Enjolras goes still. His nose wrinkles of its own accord, and he giggles before he can help it. "That sounds like something a hacker would say. Doesn't it?"

"Huh, you're right." Grantaire thinks about it for a second more, then starts laughing. "'I'm going in.' Wow. I'm the sexiest."

"You are, though." Enjolras lays a trail of kisses up Grantaire's neck, finishing with a playful nip on the earlobe. "I've never laughed with anyone in bed before. It's nice."

Grantaire smiles down at him. His eyes are so warm. It's not only lust; his face reads pure love. And, Enjolras thinks, the amazing thing is that there's so many different kinds of love. There's passionate love, crimson velvet and purple, and romantic love, frothier and silky. And there's the love of friendship like a summer day, and the crossing wires of two souls who've seen the worst and still believe in each other.

Grantaire's eyes show all this and more– trust him, he probably has some new kinds of love that haven't even been invented yet. Enjolras knows he's making one of the world's cheesiest faces, but he can't help it. He's so happy, and so completely, totally, bottom-to-top in love with this man.

"I adore you," he says.

Grantaire kisses the words right out of his mouth. It's sweet and appreciative, vanilla sugar and innocent I-love-you, but Enjolras doesn't want innocence, not right now. He grinds his hips up against Grantaire's, reminding him where they are.

"I'm ready."

Grantaire laughs a bit at his eagerness. It's good-natured, though, and clearly, he feels the same way, because he nudges Enjolras's legs apart and positions himself between them.

"I'm going to go slow. But if it's too much, just tell me, okay? I don't want to hurt you."

"It'll be okay," Enjolras assures him. "I trust you."

Grantaire's face makes some kind of big-screen special effect. He looks like he's either about to start singing praises or bawling, and Enjolras isn't sure which, so he wraps his legs around him and tries to pull him closer.

"Come on."

Of course, Grantaire has to do one last check to make sure everything's okay (his conscientiousness is touching), but at Enjolras's insistent nod, he finally steadies himself and pushes in.

It's slow as slow can be, and he's obviously being absurdly careful. Even so, though, Enjolras twitches and keens in discomfort, because it's really a _lot_. He wants this, he truly does, but wanting and getting are two different things, and the fact remains that he's probably half Grantaire's size and just coming out of a dry spell, too. He needs to get used to this before he can fully let go and lose himself in the moment.

Fortunately, Grantaire eases his way. He kisses him everywhere, soft little fairytale kisses that can't help but put him at ease, and keeps up an unwavering stream of assurances to keep him steady.

"You're doing so good," he says, calm as before, though a bit of a gravelly burr to his voice betrays how affected he is. "Taking me so well, so perfectly. How does it feel? Do you want to go slower?"

Enjolras can't imagine _slower_. He shakes his head. "No, it's good. You, you feel so..." He can't get the words out, but Grantaire seems to know what he means. He tilts his face up to press a tender kiss to his lips.

"I'm glad. I want you to be enjoying this too, beautiful."

"I am!"

"Yeah?"

Grantaire slows down anyway, kissing the corner of Enjolras's lips as he sinks himself all the way in. He's so delicate about it, but at this point, he hardly needs to be. Now that Enjolras has gotten past the initial discomfort, the slight stretch and burn feels good.

"You can move," he says.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, please. I'm ready now."

"Then, okay. I just want this to be good for you."

"It is! I really– oh!"

That's the angle. Grantaire moves again, a little more assuredly, and Enjolras tips his head back, eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

"Don't stop," he whimpers.

Grantaire takes this opportunity to attack the exposed skin of his throat with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He licks around the sharp points of Enjolras's collarbones, then makes his way up to the fluttering pulse-point under his jaw. Enjolras wonders if he can feel his heart racing.

"Bite me," he says before he can think about what he's saying and how it will sound. Grantaire stops and looks at him, head tilted.

"Bite you?"

Enjolras is a little embarrassed, but he nods, blushing. "It's nice. I mean, if you want."

Grantaire lightly scrapes his teeth over Enjolras's neck. He seems to be afraid of hurting him, so it's barely anything. Still, Enjolras shudders uncontrollably.

"Harder!"

Grantaire complies. At the same time, he twists his hand in Enjolras's hair and tugs. The combined sensations send a jolt of electricity through his body, and he lets out a heady moan.

"Yes, just like that!"

"Like this?"

Grantaire tugs again, experimental. As he does so, he rolls his hips in a new way, pushing deep and true in that perfect sweet spot. It's even better than before.

"Yes, yes, that's so good, don't stop, please don't stop!"

Enjolras is starting to come apart, he can feel it. It hasn't been very long, so if he weren't so totally maxed out on pleasure right now, he would feel a little ridiculous for coming this quickly. As it is, though, it's hard to linger on embarrassment. He crosses his ankles behind Grantaire's back to try and pull him closer.

"Don't hold back," he says.

He really means it. Now that he's gotten into his rhythm, he wants Grantaire to pound into him, take him apart, _really_ fuck him until he's loose and weak-limbed and unable to see straight. But Grantaire frowns a little, hesitant.

"Are you sure, love? I don't want to hurt you."

"I can take it. Please."

"Then, all right. But stop me if it gets to be too much."

"I will. But it won't be."

"If you say so."

Grantaire kisses him once more. He can't seem to get enough. Enjolras really isn't complaining, but he does think it's funny, because up ’til now, a pat on the arm has felt like a victory. And now, look. It's amazing how things go.

He pulls Grantaire closer, and Grantaire, as if stirred by this, begins to move in earnest. His strength has never been more obvious than it is now; each snap of his hips sends ripples down Enjolras's spine. He feels like he's being cleaved in half, and it should be a strange feeling, but it's really, really not. He moans in ecstasy and claws a hand down Grantaire's back.

"More, please!"

"More?"

"Yes! I know you're still holding back, so please!"

Grantaire reaches down between them, adding more friction. He's not easy about it, either. Enjolras cries out, overcome and unable to do anything but babble incoherent obscenities and clutch at Grantaire as if holding to a lifeline.

Before too long, he feels the sparks start to rise, white-hot and almost painfully good. He chases after it, letting himself go, turning himself over completely to this surge of feeling.

"Yes, yes," he pants over and over again, knowing that his voice is too high and ridiculously wrecked, but not able to care. "Yes, Grantaire, that's so good, that’s– ah!"

Grantaire nips at his ear. "Tell me what you need," he says, husky and low. He sounds like he's only seconds from screaming himself.

"You– I need– please don't stop, please, please!"

"You want more?"

How does he know? Enjolras throws his head back, all his senses shot into overdrive. He thinks he's saying something, probably begging for more, but he couldn't say for sure. All he knows is that he's about to go out of his mind, and he doesn't know how he's ever lived before.

Grantaire bites his neck again. He's more uninhibited now. Enjolras knows he's going to have bruises for days, but this realization only makes him groan and stretch his neck back more, offering all of himself to be taken.

"Please," he cries, not even certain what he's asking for, but knowing he needs it, and needs it now. Grantaire responds in kind, breathing against the shell of his ear and murmuring encouragements and praise.

"You're so beautiful, Enjolras. My beautiful angel. Can you come for me? Come on, come for me, baby. Let me see."

It's only a second more, and Enjolras comes explosively, sobbing Grantaire's name. His whole body feels like it's been hypercharged, too much and too _good_ to contain. Grantaire works him through his orgasm, riding out the trembling aftershocks that shoot through them both.

"Look at me," he says (asks, really), as Enjolras tries to come back to earth. Enjolras pulls his eyes open and looks at him, all wild hair and bright, wide eyes.

"Grantaire," he moans.

This is all he needs to say. Without another word, Grantaire is coming, clasping him achingly, meltingly tight and never pulling his gaze away. His face is a picture of sublimity, and Enjolras can't help but be proud to have made him feel like that, blissed-out and sex-drunk though he is.

They lie there together for a couple minutes, just taking the time to get back to themselves. Enjolras feels too dazed and boneless for much pillow-talk, but he nuzzles against Grantaire's chest and brushes little kisses everywhere he can reach without moving too much. Grantaire doesn't talk for once. He threads his fingers through Enjolras's hair as if he's carding silk. It's so loving, so relaxed. Enjolras thinks he understands now why people fall asleep after sex.

Neither of them do end up falling asleep in the end, though it's a close thing. Instead, they lazily stretch off the couch and head to the bathroom to clean up. Enjolras doesn't want to let go of Grantaire's hand, so he doesn't, and he smiles at the picture they make in the bathroom mirror.

"Cute," he says.

"Yeah, you are."

"No, I meant you!" Enjolras brings his free hand up to point at Grantaire's face, photo-frame style. "Look at you. You're so gorgeous."

"Well, I'm _something_ , for sure."

Enjolras knows this is a discussion for another day. For now, though, they're both tired, and it's late. He leans against Grantaire's side and looks up at him, in person, this time, instead of the mirror.

"Will you stay?"

Grantaire looks down, a little surprised, and for a second, Enjolras is afraid he's overstepped his boundaries, pushed too far and too fast. But then Grantaire's face breaks out in a lovely smile.

"I want to. But I'd have to leave early for work tomorrow."

"Oh." Enjolras tries not to show that he's disappointed. "Is that a no?"

"No, I mean, if you're okay with me getting up at 7 and waking you with my annoying morning habits, I'd like to stay."

Enjolras stands up on his toes for a kiss, overwhelmingly happy once again. He usually doesn't invite people to stay the night, not unless conditions are really special, so he's excited. He tugs on Grantaire's hand.

"Come on, then. You should get some sleep!"

They settle into bed, unsure and giggling, but thrumming with excitement. None of Enjolras's clothes will fit Grantaire, so he's just wearing boxers and an old cleaning shirt of Combeferre's (Enjolras knows he won't mind), but it feels so domestic, like they're actual _boyfriends_ or something.

At first, it's a little awkward. Neither of them seem to know what to do, so they lie still, flat on their backs, not-quite-almost touching, and chatting lightly.

"You really weren't kidding about the plushie zoo," says Grantaire.

Enjolras smiles. He's proud of his babies. "They all have names and backstories. And I change all of their positions around the room once a week so they don't feel lonely."

"Seriously?" Grantaire snorts, but it's not derisive. If possible, it sounds affectionate. "Enjolras, are you an actual child?"

"No. I'm a parent."

"Oh my god."

Enjolras props himself up on his elbows to look at Grantaire. Then, because his face is right there, he darts forward and kisses him.

"I'm so happy," he says.

Grantaire looks like he wants to say a lot of things in response to this. His face has gone melty, like he's so full of warmth that he can't contain it all, and his eyes are suspiciously large and shiny. Enjolras half-expects him to start one of his long-winded speeches, but he doesn't. He pops up to look Enjolras in the eyes and reaches out his hand to stroke the fine bones of his face.

"Me too," he says.

Enjolras smiles, eyes closed. This is way long overdue, honestly, because it may be new and a little weird, but it feels right. If his life were a story, this would be one of the chapters that students would analyze and write essays over. He turns his face to kiss Grantaire's hand, right in the center of his broad, exercise-roughened palm.

"I love you," he says. "And I'm yours."

"I can hardly believe it." Grantaire's voice is awed, hushed. He's not fishing for compliments; he just really, truly, can hardly believe it. Enjolras opens his eyes.

"I'll tell you, then. I'll tell you all the time."

"Will you really?"

"Mhm. If you permit it."

"I do. I really, really do. Enjolras-"

Whatever else he's about to say is lost in a rush of sweetness as he crashes forward to capture Enjolras’s mouth with his own. It seems to come as a surprise to both of them, but that's okay. A kiss is worth a thousand words, after all.

"I love you," Enjolras says again when they part. Grantaire looks like he's about to cry.

“I love you, too. I love you… God. So much. But listen.”

"Yes?"

"I'm not good. I'm annoying and cynical and I have trust issues, and I used to be a damn alcoholic– I'm kind of a mess. I have dark days, and sometimes I'll snap at you, or I won't even be able to talk to you, or I'll lock myself in my apartment and not come out for an entire weekend. I'm trying my best, but I have problems, Enjolras. And I can't be better just because of you."

Enjolras reaches for his hand. He squeezes it, tight, and kisses each finger. "I know," he says. "And I love you."

"But…? Don't you want someone better?"

"No. I want you." Enjolras knows he sounds stubborn. He's good at that. "You listen, now. I'm not good, either. And I probably won't always be the best. But that's okay. We're human, aren't we? We're not characters in some B-grade romance novel. I don't expect everything to be perfect just because we're happy and in love, because love isn't a magic cure-all, and it's silly to think that anyone can heal us but ourselves. And you're the one I fell in love with, so why would I want anyone else?"

"Fuck." Grantaire's voice cracks adorably. His eyes really are teary now. "Enjolras, sweet love, I'm so… I don't know what to say, I…”

"Then, hush." Enjolras kisses the tear track away before it can fall. "I love you," he whispers.

There's a little silence, lovely and intimate, before Grantaire brushes the lightest of kisses across Enjolras's lips.

"I love you, too."

They settle in easily after that. At first, they're facing each other, and Grantaire is clearly expecting Enjolras to lie on his chest, but he doesn't. Instead, he nudges Grantaire's shoulder with his head.

"Turn over."

"What?"

"Turn over. I want to spoon you."

"But you're tiny. Wouldn't it make more sense for you to be the little spoon?"

"I can do that next time."

That's presupposing that there _will_ be a next time, but considering the ridiculously sappy talk they just had, there's not much doubt of that. Grantaire certainly doesn't argue. He rolls over to face his back towards Enjolras.

"Spoon away."

Enjolras tucks himself in, wrapping his arms around Grantaire's middle, and pressing his face up against the place between his shoulder blades. It's true, he's much smaller than Grantaire is, but this feels right. He kisses Grantaire's shoulder.

"Are you comfy?"

"I am." Grantaire pauses and chuckles, a low rumbling sound that Enjolras can feel. "It's funny, you're so little, but you have this presence. I feel protected."

"That's the goal."

Grantaire laughs, and Enjolras can tell that it's not because he thinks anything's particularly funny, but just because he's happy. It makes Enjolras smile, too. This is everything.

"G'night, darlingest," he says. "Let's meet up in our dreams."

Grantaire's heart speeds up. Enjolras can feel it. He also reaches up and squeezes Enjolras's hand in his own.

"Goodnight, then, treasure. I'll see you in dreamland."

It's so _cute_. Enjolras is perfectly, totally content. He goes to sleep just a few minutes later with a smile still glowing on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "we're not some characters in a b-grade romance" lmao it's funny because they are do u get it


	4. Fourth Gear

Bossuet takes Enjolras to the DMV. Originally, Combeferre had wanted to, but he'd been called in to deal with an emergency at work, and had rushed out of the apartment with an apologetic wave and a promise to make it up to Enjolras later. And Grantaire, swamped at work with his corporate schedule, can't afford the time away. He'd been worried that Enjolras would be upset, but Enjolras had just kissed him sweetly and told him to do his best. He's a busy student himself, and he totally understands.

Unfortunately, some of Bossuet's luck seems to be rubbing off on Enjolras. They're early, but the line is so long that by the time they get up to the counter, it's already past Enjolras's appointment time. The clerk doesn't seem to be impressed with their explanation, and it's only when Enjolras flutters his eyelashes and pleads in his best helpless-little-pixie voice that he's allowed to proceed with the test at all.

Then, they end up in line behind three other cars while they wait for the driving instructor to finish up what he's doing and come out. The longer they wait, the more nervous Enjolras gets, until he's tapping on the steering wheel and practically hyperventilating. Bossuet, not as used to his anxiety as some of his other friends are, doesn't know what to do, and sits there awkwardly silent. Probably, he's trying not to bother Enjolras, but this is the worst thing he could do. Without distraction, the maelstrom in Enjolras's head stirs to epic proportions.

"I'm going to fail," he says finally, because he may as well get it out there. Bossuet chuckles nervously.

"Aww. Well… that's okay. You can always try again."

"So you think I'm going to fail?"

"What? No! I'm just saying, you can try again."

Enjolras takes his hands off the steering wheel. He fancies he's getting funny looks from all the people outside. Where's the driving instructor? They've been waiting so long already. He looks at Bossuet.

"I'm so sorry to make you wait here like this."

Bossuet shrugs. "It's okay. I have nothing better to do."

"Your job?"

"Eh. My boss doesn't care."

Enjolras wishes he had some gum or something, anything to use as a distraction. He leans over and digs around in the glove compartment. Time to see what Grantaire keeps in his car.

He's rifling through some old papers with cartoons sketched on them, when there's a tap on his window. Hastily, he jumps up and rolls it down.

"Yes! Hello!"

"You need to move your car up," says the disgruntled-looking DMV employee. Enjolras hurries to obey, but in his haste, he dumps the clutch and makes a horrible revving sound as he rockets forward. The woman looks less than pleased. "Try not to cause an accident, kiddo."

"Yes! I'm sorry!"

Bossuet taps him on the arm. "You can put the car back in neutral now.”

It’s starting to look like it won’t be long to wait. The first car in the line has already headed out (the reason for the DMV employee hurrying Enjolras along), and there's already another instructor coming out to the second car in the line. Enjolras bounces up and down in his seat. Did he remember to do his eyebrows this morning? What if the driving instructor fails him because he has messy eyebrows? Or what if they're prejudiced against blonds? There are so many issues to think about here. He's going to do so bad, and he's going to fail, and it's going to be _awful_. What if he causes an accident? What if he blows up Grantaire's car? What if–

"Enjolras, are you all right?"

Bossuet is gripping his shoulder and looking at him with deep concern in his clear brown eyes. Enjolras tries to smile.

"I'm great. Just doing my thing, here, you know."

"Yeah, but you look like you're about to have a panic attack."

“I… might be. But, you know. Whatever."

"I'm not sure that's something to _whatever_ about?"

A car pulls into the parking space designated for the driving test applicants. It's the first car from the testing line. Enjolras can tell. He tries to breathe.

"That’s, that’s– woah. Okay. Wow! I'm a little dizzy!"

"Oh no." Bossuet prods at him, as if checking for damage. "Um, okay. Do you want me to call Combeferre?"

"He's in surgery. Woo, boy. I'm feeling kinda funky hecky here."

"What does that even mean? Why are you talking like that?"

Enjolras closes his eyes. Maybe that will help. Then, he puts his head down on the steering wheel. If only he had a pair of noise-canceling headphones, or at least something to play music on his phone. But no, it's illegal to drive with auxiliary devices like that. He knows this.

"Bossuet, I'm dying," he says. "Will that count as an automatic fail, do you think?"

"I think you should go home. You don't look good at all."

"No, no. Can't go home."

"Why?"

"Gotta take this test."

"You can reschedule."

"No. I'll just be scared then, too. I have to get through this."

"Enjolras…”

It's at this point that the car ahead of them moves out of its place into the street, and a driving instructor comes up to the window, carrying an enormous clipboard and looking stern. Enjolras gulps.

"H-hello. Good afternoon."

"Enjolras?"

"Yes, that's me. I'm Enjolras. Hi."

The man doesn't so much as crack a smile. "Hello. My name is Javert, and I'll be your examiner today."

"Okay," Enjolras squeaks, as if he has a choice in the matter. Bossuet squeezes his arm.

"Be brave. You got this."

He gets out of the car and goes to wait on the sidelines. Javert walks around the car and inspects it thoroughly, and Enjolras flashes his lights and beeps the horn when he says to. When Javert is satisfied, he gets in the passenger seat and quizzes Enjolras on the various hand signals and parts of the car.

"Gas pedal?"

"Here."

"Windshield wipers?"

"Here."

"Defroster?"

"Here."

"Second phalange?"

"Um."

Javert smiles tightly. "Just a joke."

"Oh." Enjolras chuckles nervously. It sounds terribly forced. Why did he have to get this guy as his examiner?

They make their way into the street, slowly, because Enjolras isn't sure about the speed limit, and he'll be damned if he fails right out of the parking lot. Javert keeps writing on his clipboard, though, and it's giving Enjolras the jitters, because he hasn't even _done_ anything yet.

"Where do I go?" he asks.

Javert humphs. "Where I tell you."

"Oh."

He keeps driving, paying careful attention to the speed limit, and the road signs. Unfortunately, he doesn't pay attention to the tachometer.

"Are you in first gear?" asks Javert.

Enjolras is, indeed, in first gear. And he's driving about 35. Well, that would explain the lugging. He quickly changes to second, probably too fast, because the car jerks. Javert clicks his tongue and starts writing on the clipboard again.

Presently, he looks up. "Take a left here."

"Okay."

Enjolras looks over his shoulder, signals, and moves into the left turn lane. He's pretty proud of that lane change, actually; it was smooth, and right at that sweet spot between too fast and too slow.  But Javert shakes his head.

"Too much time in the turning lane."

 _Darn_. Enjolras clenches his teeth, resolving not to make any more mistakes.

This is easier said than done. Throughout his short drive, Enjolras manages to break seemingly every rule in the book, from spending too much time at an intersection, to rolling through a stop sign, to stalling at a red light. He even cuts someone off as he tries to change lanes, and they honk and speed up to pass him, flipping him off and shouting vulgarities. Javert just sighs and shakes his head and squeezes more notes onto his now-spaceless clipboard.

By the time Enjolras pulls back into the DMV parking lot, he's a sweating, shaking mess. He knows he did terribly, and the only consolation to be had out of this whole ordeal is that he hasn't fainted. Or at least, not yet.

He parks (crooked, and way too far from the curb), and sits back, ready to be denounced as the worst driver that the country has ever seen in all its years of existence.

"Okay," he says. "What did I do wrong?"

"Well." Javert takes his papers out of the clipboard, and thumbs through them. "Where do we start?"

In the end, Enjolras manages to pass only one section of the test, and that's the knowledge part. That is, the part that doesn't involve any actual driving. Every other section is, in Javert's words, "a most spectacular failure." By the time the explanation is over, he's nauseated, and there are tears pricking the back of his eyelids.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have wasted your time."

"It's not a waste at all," says Javert unexpectedly. "It's my job."

"But I did so bad."

"That's all right. Most people do, their first time around. May I suggest, though, that if you have any anxiety medication, you take it before your test next time?"

"Oh." Enjolras hadn't thought it was that noticeable. He nods jerkily. "I will. Thank you anyway."

Javert nods to him, all stiff politeness once again. He gets out of the car and goes back into the building, and Enjolras sits for a second and waits to regain feeling in his legs before he goes to find Bossuet and tell him the bad news.

\--

Everyone is so nice about it once they hear what happened. Enjolras is nervous and embarrassed, but he's never been one to back down from difficulty, so he tells them straight out. And it's good that he does, because they're nothing but supportive. Combeferre makes him hot chocolate, and Marius tells him earnestly that he failed his own driving test five times, and Feuilly takes a break from work to come over and give him a hug and a little paper crane with words of encouragement written on each wing. Even Eponine, who's usually less than cuddly, brings over a bag of stuffed animals and a bottle of whiskey and sits down with him to drunk-watch musicals and cry. They're all perfect, and Enjolras goes to bed feeling a little better about himself.

He's afraid to tell Grantaire, though. The poor man spent so much time and effort teaching him, and now it's all come out to nothing. He wants to tell him, he does, but he feels guilty and ashamed, and he can't bring himself to do it for twelve whole hours. Then, in the middle of the night, still half drunk off Eponine's whiskey, he sends off a semi-coherent message apologizing for everything and rueing the day he ever had the arrogance to try this thing that's so clearly beyond his power.

Grantaire doesn't reply, which Enjolras thinks is completely understandable (he'd woken up the next morning and was horrified to see that his texts hadn't been a dream), but when he gets home from class that afternoon, Grantaire is waiting for him on the couch.

Enjolras comes over to him hesitantly, afraid that this is some sort of hallucination.

"Hello," he says. "How did you get in here?"

Grantaire wiggles his fingers. "Magic."

"You broke in?"

"Only sort of."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to hug you in person."

Enjolras bounces onto the couch and climbs into Grantaire's lap. He presses his nose against the hollow of his neck and lays bunny kisses all across his collarbone.

"Hi," he says.

Grantaire smiles down at him and ruffles his hair. "Hey."

He's so sweet. Even just this tiniest gesture is imbued with so much tenderness that Enjolras wants to cry. Come to think of it, that's probably coming, because Grantaire must be here in response to Enjolras's news of his less-than-successful driving test, and Enjolras isn't sure if he can talk about this most egregious failure without tears yet. It has to be done, though, so there's no point in waiting.

"You got my text?" he asks.

Grantaire chuckles, but it's kind, love in every note. "It was hard not to. You sent ten of them."

"Ah, right. Well. I wanted to make sure I got the point across."

"You definitely did that. Emojis and all."

"Don't laugh at the emojis! They're an augment to written language, and an aid to communication in general. In fact, I feel like they're going to become dialectical and develop their own system sometime in the near future."

"Really? You should tell Jehan. They'll probably publish a paper about it in one of their snooty linguistics journals."

"Not if I publish it first."

"Okay, you little nerd."

Enjolras smiles and cuddles into Grantaire's embrace, allowing himself to be held for just a little while. But he can't relax yet, not when he has an important issue looming over his head.

"I hope you understood what I was trying to say, though," he says, somewhat hesitantly, because he's not sure that he could even decode his own texts completely. But Grantaire nods.

"I got the gist. You really felt bad, didn't you?"

"I did. I still do. I'm so sorry, Grantaire, I wanted to do better, but I let you down."

"You didn't. You did your best, and that's what matters. And it's not an easy thing, getting your license. You know, Marius failed five times."

Enjolras smiles at this, but soon he's pensive again. "I feel like I wasted your time."

"No, no, no. Like I said before, I'm happy to help. And besides, I got something out of it, too."

"What?"

Grantaire tilts his head up and boops his nose, smiling a ridiculous, adorable, crooked smile. "You."

Enjolras's heart swells almost painfully. He's so in love that it hurts. "That's true," he says. "You have me for sure."

Grantaire's gone still and starry-eyed, and although Enjolras likes that look, he thinks there's another one that he'd like even better. He pokes him lightly.

"Hey, Combeferre's not home right now. Do you want to have me in a more… _literal_ way?"

"Oh? … _Oh_."

"No?"

"Yes."

Grantaire picks him up and walks off to the bedroom, smiling sappily the whole time. He looks like he's found everything good in the world. When he sets Enjolras down on the bed and climbs on top of him, his eyes are like glazed sugar.

"I'll make you forget about the DMV for a little while," he says.

Enjolras has a feeling his eyes are glazed, too. "Please do."

\--

That evening, still basking in a delicious afterglow, Enjolras makes another appointment at the DMV. It's still a little bit of an embarrassment to his good name and everything he holds dear, but it's hard to care that much when Grantaire is holding him on his lap and whispering encouragements into his neck. He manages to set his time for the next day, which is miraculous, given the DMV's usual propensity for slowness. Maybe things are looking up for him after all.

When Combeferre gets home, he's carrying a bag full of vegetables that he says he got from one of his friends at the hospital. People seem to like giving him things. Enjolras takes the bag and goes into the kitchen, telling him and Grantaire to wait while he cooks up a delicious stir-fry for them all (given a choice, he'd like to make a vegetable stew, but he doesn't have the time, so he figures this will be a close second). They laugh at him and tell him not to go to all the effort after such a long day, but he shushes them and goes to work anyway. And, by the time the rice is ready, they're hovering around the kitchen trying to taste-test everything on the stove.

They all have a warm, comfortable evening after that. The food is delicious, of course– Enjolras knows that what he lacks in driving expertise, he more than makes up for in cooking– and Combeferre shows them one of his weird insect animations, and somehow, they all end up trying to draw themselves. Only Grantaire's creation looks like a living, human person. It's only when they all have to sleep that the party breaks up, and they say goodnight, still cozy and smiling. Enjolras settles into bed and wraps himself around his perfect boyfriend, thinking that life can't get any better than this, driver's license or no.

It's good that he has these hours of contentment, because the next day proves to be disastrous. He's late to lecture, so he has to stay after to talk to the professor. Then, he's late to his next discussion, and his TA mocks him in front of the class. And then, during his last discussion, he gets back an assignment with a much-less-than-perfect score on it, and has to put up with the TA questioning him about it. By the time he gets home, he's so rattled that he forgets when his driving appointment is, and rushes to the DMV in a panic, only to realize that he's an hour early. Bossuet, who's driving him again, takes this all in stride, but he feels awful and apologizes at least ten times.

His appointment, when it comes around, is possibly worse than last time. He only makes it halfway through the test before nearly backing into a pole, getting scared, and driving over the curb right onto the sidewalk. Javert shakes his head in weary resignation and ends the test early for "health, safety, and general common sense" purposes.

On the way home, Bossuet tries to help out by recounting stories of his own failures. This only makes Enjolras feel bad, though, so he distracts him by asking if he wants to get pho. Of course he does, so they stop, but after they've already ordered, they realize that they have no money between them. So they call Marius to come and bail them out. He does, but he demands that in exchange, they accompany him to one of his holistic yoga classes. It's three hours long, and grueling in every way. When Enjolras finally gets home, he showers as quickly as he can, throws on one of Combeferre's oversized sweaters, and falls into bed to sleep away his misery.

\--

His next driving test is hardly better. Javert doesn't stop him halfway through this time, but he gives him a stern talking-to when they get back to the DMV.

"Listen," he says. "You may not be cut out to be a driver. And that's fine. With your looks, you could get a ride whenever you want. But you need to either shape up, or quit, because you're endangering yourself and others."

Enjolras finds it very hard not to cry on the drive home.

That night, Combeferre tells him that he shouldn't worry if he doesn't get his license, because he's happy to help as much as he can.

"I have clinicals," he says. "But some of the others have more flexible schedules. So if you want, I'm sure you could get away with not driving."

"But I don't want," Enjolras tries to explain. Combeferre hugs him and pats his hair, clicking his tongue like one of his bugs.

"I know. I'm just saying."

\--

Clearly, something needs to be done. Enjolras isn't going to give up this easily, not when he's so close. What's stopping him, anyway? Just his own incompetence. He has to get better. So, maybe he loses 30% of his skill during the test because of nerves. That's okay. He just has to be better than everyone else. And the only way to do that is to practice.

He texts Grantaire that night, at around 4:30 AM, asking him if he'd be willing to help out just a little more. Grantaire actually replies (which is a little worrying, since he's a professional, working man and should be asleep), and says that he'd be more than happy to, because he wants to do anything he can to help, and Enjolras will be fine no matter what, and he's so proud of him, and he loves him so much. Enjolras may or may not shed a little tear into his pillow at that point. No one knows except his stuffed animals. At any rate, he thinks, maybe overly-optimistically, that with Grantaire's help, he should be able to get where he needs to go.

The next night, Grantaire shows up with a bouquet of red and yellow flowers. He's smiling like he has a pleasant secret, so Enjolras tugs him inside and asks him what the flowers mean.

"I know you're saying something with these. So tell me!"

Grantaire turns the smile on Enjolras, as if he's inviting him in on the secret. "Okay. So, red tulips are for a declaration of love, because I want you to know that I love you, and I'm always here for you. Sunflowers are for adoration, because you're my sunshine, and I adore every bit of you. Amaryllis is for beauty, which makes sense because you're a literal angel, but it also stands for worth beyond beauty, and you have so much of that. And finally, I put in a nasturtium for patriotism because you're a social justice nerd."

Enjolras squeals, hideously undignified it’s true, but there's no time for dignity when he's blushing as red as the petals of the tulips, so he doesn't even care, just lightly kisses the bouquet of flowers before laying it gently on the table, and leaps into Grantaire's arms.

"I love you," he sings. "I love you, I love you! And I adore you, and I see your beauty and worth beyond beauty, and I just..." _Oh no, Enjolras, don't cry._ "I'm so happy that you're in my life," he finishes succinctly, before the tears can start.

Grantaire kisses him on the forehead, and then on the nose. "How did I ever get so lucky?"

"I'm the lucky one," Enjolras tells him. "You're the most."

"The most what?"

"The most, period. That's what you are."

"But what does that mean?"

"It means, good sir, that you– are– my– love." Enjolras punctuates each word with a tap to Grantaire's chest, right over his heart. He smiles at the stupefied expression that this elicits, and leans up for a kiss. "Love you," he says.

"Love you more," says Grantaire like the walking cliche that he is. But then he curls his upper lip in disgust. "I don't know why I said that. I hate that whole I-love-you-more-no-I-do thing. I just love you, that's all."

"I love you straightforwardly, without any complexities or pride," says Enjolras, and he's proud of himself for all of two seconds until Grantaire smiles and glibly quotes the line in the original Spanish. What a show-off. Enjolras sticks his tongue out at him. "You think you're pretty hot stuff, don't you."

"Mas o menos, si."

"I do, too."

They kiss, nice and safe-for-work, but the scene is set to become something else entirely. All the heat is there, starting to curl and spread out between and around them, drawing them together, and unchecked, it'll definitely lead them to bed. But this isn't meant to be; there's a key in the lock, and Combeferre comes into the apartment, humming happily to himself. He stops as soon as he sees that he's not alone, however.

"Oh, hello Enjolras! Hello, Grantaire! I didn't know the two of you would be here."

Enjolras peers at him with all the keenness reserved for a best friend. "Is that a hickey on your _chin_?"

"I tripped over a specimen," says Combeferre unconvincingly. Grantaire wiggles his eyebrows.

"Kinky."

"Oh, shut up. At least I'm not the one who's into–”

"Okay, okay!"

"Huh?" Enjolras looks from one to the other, fascinated. "Who's into what, now?"

Grantaire smiles at him sappily. "I'm into _you_."

"Oh, gross." Combeferre wrinkles his nose so extensively that his glasses move. "You two are going to be worse than any of us. I can already tell."

"That's a bad thing?"

"No, I'm glad to see you happy." Combeferre squeezes Enjolras's shoulder and punches Grantaire on the arm in a bro-to-bro sort of way. "Just make sure not to forget the rest of us, yeah?"

"There's no doubt of that." Enjolras smiles happily at his wonderful, perfect best friend. "I love you, 'Ferre."

"I love you too, ducky."

It's a cute moment. Unfortunately, Enjolras's friends are the very definition of prosaic, so it lasts only that, a moment. Combeferre tugs at a lock of his hair, grinning like some kind of beetle.

"So! Are you going to make dinner tonight?"

"Oh, yes," adds Grantaire enthusiastically. "You know, I always love what you cook."

It's cheap flattery, but it works. Enjolras pops out of his arms and goes to the kitchen, rolling up his shirtsleeves in his seriousness.

"Okay. I'm ready to make the best meal ever. By the way, what do you want to eat?"

"Approximately one noodle," says Grantaire.

Enjolras gives him a thumbs-down. "'Ferre?"

"Maybe some oatmeal, half-cooked for health? And put in some okra. It contains many good vitamins."

"Ew. No. Okay, you guys go sit on the couch. I'm going to make something tasty, and you're going to eat it up."

Combeferre and Grantaire retreat to the couch and begin talking about cryptids. Combeferre loves Mothman more than any reasonable human should, while Grantaire is more of a fan of Filiko Teras, but it seems any topic is fair game, and soon Combeferre is opening up his cache of data files to elucidate some of his finer points. They're cute, and they look so happy that Enjolras takes a little longer than he needs to preparing dinner.

Soon, though, everything is ready, so he clears his throat, breaking into a spirited discussion of Champy sightings, and beckons them over to the kitchen.

"Ready to solve a true mystery? Tell me why I'm so great at cooking."

"I've been wondering that for years," says Combeferre.

Enjolras beams. "Okay, just for that, I'm dishing yours up first."

"Yes!"

Once everyone is dished, they settle down on the couch to eat and watch one of the documentaries that Feuilly has been telling them about every time they see him. It looks amazing. Enjolras has been wanting to watch it for awhile, but he's never had the time. Now, though, he figures he can spare a couple hours to check it out. He snuggles up between Combeferre and Grantaire and props his bowl of eggplant tofu on his knees, preparing himself for a brief oasis of relaxation before the evening spins away.

After they finish watching the documentary and discussing it at great length (or rather, Enjolras airs out his opinions, and the others mostly listen), Enjolras knows he can't put off the business side of the evening anymore. He gathers up the dishes and brings them over to the sink, though predictably, Grantaire stops him before he can actually wash them.

"I'll do it," he says.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's tradition by now."

Enjolras kisses his cheek, then turns and looks pointedly at Combeferre until he sighs and gets up, too.

"I guess I'll dry, then."

With both of them working together, and Enjolras sitting and watching them and making helpful comments, the task is soon done, and it really is time to get down to brass tacks. Enjolras collects himself, tapping nervously on the counter until Combeferre puts a hand over his to stop him, and sighs.

"Okay. So, I know it's not fun. But, will you help me now?"

"Of course. Anything."

That seems a bit extravagant, but Enjolras appreciates the sentiment. He smiles in a strained-but-hopefully-still-cute kind of way.

"Then," he says. "Will you be my Javert?"

Grantaire blinks at him. "Is that a sexual thing?"

"Oh lord. Heavens. No, not at all. I mean, what would that even– no."

"Thank goodness. Because I mean, I'd do it, but…”

"This is weird," interrupts Combeferre, rather unfairly, Enjolras thinks, because he's the one with a hickey on his goddamn chin, but he nods in kindness and patient understanding.

"Oh, quite, quite. Don't worry, 'Ferre, we won't have weird sex right now."

"Just right now?"

"Anyway, so back to me being your Javert," says Grantaire, slightly red in the face. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Ah, right. So, you know at the DMV, they have this man who does the driving tests, and his name is Javert, and he's kind of scary, but he's actually pretty nice, I think? Under his exterior, you know. But he's really into laws and regulations, and he yelled at me for not parking in neutral, and he's really intense. So, can you pretend to be him? I think it'll get me used to being nervous."

"So… you want me to make you anxious?"

"Yes."

Grantaire scratches his ear thoughtfully. "Don't take this the wrong way, but. Aren't you already anxious like 80% of the time?"

"Well, yeah. But I need to be even more. Like, terrified."

"I see." Grantaire thinks some more, and for one awful moment, Enjolras is sure he's going to refuse. But then he nods.

"Well, if you want me to. But I get to calm you down afterwards, right?"

"Please."

Grantaire's face clears. He even smiles a little bit. "Then, okay. If it's for a good cause. I'll just make sure to make it all better when I'm done being mean."

"Thank you!" Enjolras hugs him around the waist, trying to convey all his love and gratitude. It must work, because the room suddenly seems about ten degrees warmer.

Grantaire kisses him on the top of the head and lets his lips rest there for a couple seconds before pulling back to an arm's length away.

"So," he says. "Shall we go?"

Enjolras sets his jaw and nods assent. "Let's go."

Combeferre stays up in the apartment. He says he'll make hot chocolate and warm up some blankets in the dryer so that when Enjolras gets back, inevitably harrowed-up and shaking, he can settle right down into a nice cozy environment. This is perfect, because Enjolras knows he's going to need all the comfort he can get, and besides, Combeferre probably couldn't make anyone anxious if he tried. He's too calm and gentle. He's better off waiting to pick up the pieces when this is all done.

So, now a duet instead of a trio, Enjolras and Grantaire head down to the car. At first, Grantaire doesn't seem to know what to do, and dithers around trying to make Enjolras comfortable instead of the opposite. But after a bit, he gets into his groove.

"You need to adjust your mirrors before you start driving," he says. "What are you going to do if you cause an accident because you couldn't see anything?"

Enjolras feels the first pealings of alarm bells in his ears. He reminds himself that this is all for the greater good.

"I won't cause an accident," he says.

"You might. What if you cut someone off and they don't stop in time?"

That's a good point. Enjolras takes the time and adjusts the mirrors. Once he's done, he's about to turn the car on, but Grantaire clears his throat menacingly.

"Are you forgetting something?"

"Am I?"

"Are you?"

Enjolras looks around the car. The seat is adjusted, and the lights are on, and he's wearing his seatbelt. Grantaire's not, but he figures this is out of his control.

"I think I'm good?" he ventures.

"Hm. Then drive."

Enjolras pushes in the clutch and starts the engine, but when he goes to press the gas, the car sputters for only a few inches, then stalls. Grantaire coughs.

"Are you sure you're not forgetting something?"

Enjolras is halfway out of the car to check the tire pressure when he realizes what's wrong. He reaches down and disengages the parking brake.

"There."

"Right." For a second, Grantaire's real, warm smile shines through. But then he makes a face as if he's biting his cheek, and brings his eyebrows together. "You'll have to do better than that if you want to pass. You've made several errors already."

Enjolras nods. He's getting good and nervous now. It's time for the real test to start.

An hour later, Enjolras is a sweating, sniffling, red-eyed mess. He's made all the critical errors that are on the paper, as well as some that aren't, and failed in every single category– substantially so. Grantaire hasn't gone easy on him in the least.

"I'm going to fail," he says, not even bothering to try for a conversational tone anymore. He's been using his Anxiety Voice™ for the past half-hour or so.

Grantaire puts a hand on his arm, back to his normal, sweet self. "You did good."

"Well, _that's_ blatantly incorrect."

"No, for real. I tried my hardest to give you a bad time, but you still made it back. And I think that's pretty good, don't you?"

"No."

"Okay, I walked into that one. You're amazing, okay? Not up for debate."

"But I like debating," says Enjolras weakly. Grantaire just laughs at him.

"I know. But not right now."

He leads them both back up to the apartment, and he has to support most of Enjolras's weight, but he doesn't seem to mind. Maybe he doesn't even notice. He's one of the most muscley people Enjolras knows.

When they get back, Combeferre has indeed made hot chocolate and heated blankets, and he beckons them inside with a ready smile.

"I got you this flannel," he says, holding it out. "Go ahead and change and get comfy."

Enjolras takes the flannel without shame. Both Combeferre and Grantaire have seen him without clothes, so he doesn't feel like he has to find privacy to put it on. And once he's changed, he feels much better, awash in soft, unrestrictive fabric as he is.

Now suitably clothed for relaxation, he climbs onto the couch and pulls a blanket around himself like a hood. It's so cozy. Something's missing, though. He makes grabby hands at Combeferre and Grantaire.

"Come over here."

"Our little cuddle monster." Grantaire smiles at Combeferre, eyes crinkled in affection, and Combeferre nods his own fond agreement.

"Isn't he cute? Cutest possible cryptid."

"How am I a cryptid?" Enjolras wants to know. "There's a documented instance of me, isn't there?"

Grantaire pulls out his phone and snaps a picture. "Now there is."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I'm sure I look awful in that."

"You could never look awful."

Enjolras pulls the ugliest face he can, eyes crossed, and mouth turned down at the corners. He even tilts his nose up for good measure. "How about now?"

"Nope. Just cute."

“You know what, bro? _You’re_ cute. Fight me.”

"Stunning."

"I know. You are."

Combeferre snorts. "This is sickening," he says, as if he and Courfeyrac aren't ten times worse. Enjolras blows a kiss at him.

"I love you, 'Ferre."

Combeferre comes over to ruffle his hair before stepping into the kitchen to pour out mugs of hot chocolate. He and Grantaire bring them over, then settle in on either side of Enjolras, like tiles in a matching puzzle. Enjolras smiles and kisses each of them on the cheek.

"This is everything nice."

Grantaire kisses him back, but then he laughs. Enjolras nudges him.

"What?"

"Sometimes you say things like that, and I almost forget that you're the guy who broke into a literal police station."

"And punched a cop," adds Combeferre, somehow sounding both proud and disappointed.

"Remember the time you staged a walk-out in your workplace?" says Grantaire, obviously in the mood for reminiscing now. "I'm always going to remember that speech you made."

Enjolras preens a little. "I was pretty proud of that one."

"Of course, then you got fired," continues Grantaire thoughtfully. Enjolras pinches him on the arm.

"You ruined the mood."

He hasn't really, though. Enjolras doesn't think anything could. He's so cozy and happy, so perfectly warm and loved by people he loves back. Although he's always going to be a radical activist who fights for justice, and yes, punches cops, he's learned the importance of moments like these, too. Love and liberty aren't contradictory at all, and, he thinks, neither is happiness.


	5. Fifth Gear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last bit :D

Enjolras's next DMV appointment is scheduled for 2PM, so he decides to get there by 12 so he can sit for awhile and prepare himself. By now, poor long-suffering Bossuet is used to his antics, so he just smiles kindly and brings along his laptop to get some work done. Of course, he forgets that there's no wifi in the DMV, so he ends up just sitting after all, but he accepts this with all his usual grace.

"Why don't you go see if they'll let you take the test early?" he asks, after Enjolras has fretfully asked him for the fifth time if they should just go so he won't have to wait and be bored. "You seem pretty nervous. Wouldn't you rather get it over with?"

Enjolras sighs. "Yeah. I'm going to fail anyway, so I might as well."

"Aww, hey..."

"No, it's okay." Enjolras nods in weary resignation, just as much to himself as to Bossuet. "I've accepted it. This is my fate, and I can do nothing to change it."

He walks up to the counter (fortunately, there's no line) and asks if he can check in. The receptionist opens her mouth to reply, but then wrinkles her brow.

"Hey, weren't you here last week? And the week before that? Twice?"

"Maybe~?"

"Well, are you sure you want to be here now? This is your last attempt, you know."

Enjolras attempts to smile. It probably comes out more like a grimace. "Ah. Well, you know, there's no harm in trying, right?"

The receptionist doesn't look as if she really agrees with this, but she purses her lips and processes the paperwork anyway. "Go on," she says. "You know the drill by now."

Enjolras does know the drill by now. He gets Bossuet, and they head out to the parking lot to get in line for the drive test. Today, there's only one person ahead of them, though whether or not this is a good thing is anyone's guess. Enjolras bounces up and down in his seat, nervous for no reason at all.

"I'm going to fail," he says. "It's okay. I've totally made peace with that and stuff. So why am I still scared?"

"Pyramidal tracts," says Bossuet. Enjolras doesn't think this sounds quite right, but he doesn't know enough about neuroscience to dispute it. Combeferre's impromptu lectures haven't extended that far.

He taps on the steering wheel, only to be dissuaded when he presses on the horn by accident. The person in front of him turns around and glares icily at him, and he ducks down behind the steering wheel.

"Do you think they saw me?"

"Probably."

"Well-p, that's it. They're going to wait outside the DMV and stab me. Been nice knowing you."

Bossuet tilts his head like a particularly puzzled owl. "Why are you like this?"

"Believe me, I wish I knew."

At this point, a DMV employee comes up to the car in front of them and motions for them to roll down the window. Enjolras rolls his down too, for solidarity.

Almost immediately, though, he regrets doing so. The DMV employee seems to be talking sternly to the person in the car, gesticulating and waving her phone around.

"We can't have you taking the test in a stolen car!" she shouts.

Enjolras and Bossuet look at each other, half in interest, and half in distress.

"Should we do something?"

"What would we do, though?"

Enjolras shrugs. "Fight them?"

"No, I don't want Combeferre to kill me if you get hurt."

"I won't get hurt! I'm as strong as a steel… Pokemon."

"I didn't know you knew what a Pokemon was," says Bossuet, which Enjolras thinks is ridiculous, because he's a man of the people, after all, and knows more than his friends think.

"I have high stats," he says.

Bossuet laughs, but he doesn't get a chance to reply, because now Javert comes up to the still-open window and waves grimly.

"Hello, son."

"Oh!" In his shock, Enjolras goes to roll the window back up. It's only halfway through that he realizes what he's doing. Sheepishly, he rolls it back down. "Sorry, sir."

"It's all right. Are you ready for another try?"

Enjolras isn't, but he nods anyway. "I will make go it."

"Pardon?"

"Oh. Um, yes. I am ready."

It's time for failure to come home to roost. Enjolras bows his head in weary resignation, and lets the moment wash over him. This is it– the end.

Somehow, though, his acceptance of failure seems to help. He makes it out of the parking lot without a problem, and only makes one mistake while driving backwards when he forgets what gear he's in and tries to back up in first. Javert nods in grudging appreciation.

"Correct. Let's proceed."

Why does he want to drag out this terrible experience? Enjolras sighs wearily and drives where Javert tells him to.

The next problem comes at the intersection. Enjolras is so rattled that he forgets how to turn, and flips on the windshield wipers instead of the turn signal. Then, blushing at his mistake, he forgets that he's allowed to turn right on red, and waits until the light changes before going, even though there's not a single car in sight. Javert makes a note on his clipboard, but allows the test to continue. Enjolras sighs again. Why can't this ordeal just end already?

It seems to take ages, but finally, he's pulling back into the parking lot. Right as he tries to get in, he spots a car in the other lane, panics, and stalls. Javert coughs.

"Is something wrong?"

"I stalled," Enjolras explains, then wants to smack himself, because this much is obvious. "Okay. I will go now."

"Yes, I think that's best," agrees Javert, admirably dry.

Enjolras restrains himself from apologizing (because really, what would he even be apologizing _for_?) and starts the car to pull into the DMV parking lot. He knows where he's supposed to go, but he's somehow misses the parking place and has to pull into the next one over. Once there, he turns the car off, and flops back to sit with his eyes closed, stewing in his own sweat and lingering nervousness. Time for yet another failure.

"Okay," he says. "I'm ready. Tell me everything."

Javert is quiet for a beat too long. Enjolras sits up to see what's wrong, only to see him pointing to the paper with a puzzled expression. Oh, boy. This can't be good.

"Javert…?” he ventures.

Javert looks up. There's a crease between his eyebrows. "You passed," he says, obviously barely able to believe it himself. "You got 14 out of 15 possible errors, which is… a passing score. You passed."

What.

_What?_

Enjolras points at the paper, as if it holds all the answers to his questions and life in general. "Did you say I passed?"

"I did. You did. You… I don't know how. But you passed. You got your license."

Enjolras makes an inhumanly high squeaking noise in the back of his throat. He flings his arms around Javert and kisses him right on his scraggly, weather-beaten cheek.

"Thank you so much, sir! Thank you, thank you! I can't tell you how much this– I mean, I could, but… Anyway! Thank you! I will remember this moment forever!"

"Okay," says Javert gruffly, but he seems pleased, too. Maybe he's in awe of the miracle that's just transpired. "Go on inside and get your paperwork processed. They'll take you at window 4."

Enjolras squeals one more time, and takes his keys out of the ignition. He hasn't been so excited to sign paperwork since the time he drafted that ballot proposition last August.

"Thank you," he says again. "I hope you're blessed with everything beautiful today."

Javert actually _chuckles_. Somehow, it doesn't sound as weird as it should. "Thanks, kiddo."

They both get out of the car to head back to the DMV, and Enjolras is set to walk in together, but Javert starts over to the line of cars waiting their turn for the driving test. There are so many more of them now. Before he gets there, though, he turns over his shoulder.

"By the way, Enjolras."

Enjolras perks up. "Yes!"

"Congratulations. I'm proud of you."

Enjolras hugs himself in delight right there in the middle of the parking lot. He can still hardly believe this is real, but he's so happy that he doesn't even care. He doesn’t think even laureate prize winners could be as elated as he is right now. 

He floats over to the DMV waiting area, feeling like there are wings on his heels. "Bossuet! Bossuet!"

Bossuet looks up from his phone. "Oh, you're done? How–”

Enjolras jumps into his arms. A few of the people around them look startled, but Bossuet accepts it easily. He smiles when Enjolras kisses him on both cheeks, too excited to hold it all in.

"Bossuet! I passed!"

"You passed?"

"I did! I have my license now!"

"I'll be sure to keep off the roads from now on," grumbles one of the people next to them, but Enjolras doesn't pay them any notice.

"I passed," he coos.

Bossuet ruffles his hair, all affection and happiness. "I'm proud of you. C'mon, let's get back and tell the others!"

\--

Combeferre insists on having a party in the apartment that night. He's so excited and proud that he gets spectacularly wasted and starts stripping on the coffee table, at which point Enjolras decides enough is enough, and sends everyone home to save what's left of his best friend's dignity. Only Courfeyrac and Grantaire stay behind, Courfeyrac to drunkenly maneuver his half-naked boyfriend into his bedroom and take care of him (whatever that means), and Grantaire to celebrate with Enjolras.

They take their time cleaning up the living room, reveling in the domesticity, but finally they cuddle up in Enjolras's bed, washed and brushed and ready for whatever direction the night takes them.

By now, Grantaire is a little more used to Enjolras's plushies, so he doesn't even joke that they're watching him. He just says hello to the ones on the bed, and picks his cat off the pillow to give it a silly kiss on the nose.

"Hello, Apollo. I see you're still in the bed rotation."

"Apollo is always in the bed rotation," Enjolras says seriously. "He sits on my pillow and gives me good dreams."

Grantaire puts Apollo back on the pillow, and turns to Enjolras with a half-puzzled-half-joking little moue. "Okay, how are you so cute? You're a rebel, for fuck's sake. You _fight_ people."

“It's my natural charm,” Enjolras tells him. “I showcase the duality of man.”

“Wow, even that was cute. What the hell."

Enjolras grins. He's so smitten. "You're cute, too. You have this cute chin, and ears, and nose, and eyes, and cheeks." He kisses each part named, and finishes up by booping Grantaire on the forehead. "And, you have the cutest personality. And you're so smart because you helped me get my license. Me!"

"You!" Grantaire rolls on top of him, not heavy (because he's still afraid of crushing him), but sweet, cupping his face with one hand, and holding his hair with the other. "Come here, you absolute treasure."

They kiss for awhile, unhurried, because they have all the time in the world, and they're both too relaxed and comfortable to turn this into something else. But after the requisite half-hour in heaven, Enjolras pulls away.

"Grantaire!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Oh goodness, nothing." Enjolras kisses him lightly to show he means it, waiting until he smiles again to continue. "It's just, I have an idea."

"Yeah? You're always full of ideas. What is it?"

"I want to take you somewhere."

"Right now?"

"Yeah! It has to be at night, you see."

Grantaire looks at him, apprehensive and more than a little intrigued. "Is this some supernatural business?"

"No. No way. I can't handle that sort of thing." Enjolras wrinkles his nose. He might be the bravest of them all with respect to conflict in this world, but when it comes to ghosts and ESP and aliens and all the kind of stuff that Combeferre is into, he's nothing but a quivering little pile of jelly. He can't even do horror movies, so a paranormal date night is totally out of the question.

Grantaire makes a disappointed sound, but he doesn't seem too upset. He knows about Enjolras's weaknesses already. "Okay, so nothing supernatural. Then, hmm. Is it a club? Should I get ready to dance?"

"It's not a club, either." Enjolras does his best to smile mysteriously. He's not very good at that– mystery is best left to someone like Jehan– but he does manage to raise one eyebrow by itself (a skill he's been working to cultivate lately), so that's something. "Come with me and I'll show you," he says. "It's a surprise."

"How spontaneous of you!" Grantaire laughs, lightly teasing, and so, so cute. "Okay, my fearless leader. Surprise me."

\--

Enjolras feels like he drives much better now that he has his license. Maybe it's a confidence thing. He certainly feels better; it doesn’t seem to be any problem to follow the rules of the road now. Or maybe, it’s just placebo. In any case, though, he makes it to his destination without too much difficulty.

He parks, then darts out of the car and around to open the door for Grantaire, because he's a gentleman like that. But instead of getting out, Grantaire grabs him around the hips and pulls him inside, onto his lap.

"Hey," he says, low.

Enjolras smiles and presses up against him. "Hey."

He hadn't intended for their spontaneous little nocturnal date to go like this, but he certainly isn't complaining, especially since they have all (or at least mostly all) night at their disposal. So he leans in close and ghosts his lips over Grantaire's, long enough for their breaths to mingle. "Is this comfortable for you?"

"Very." Grantaire chases his mouth, biting down on his lower lip when he finally catches him. "And you?"

"Absolutely."

Grantaire gives him that sharp smile that he loves so much. "Good."

He pulls the car door shut, and cups his hand around Enjolras's ass to pull him closer. He's so sure of himself, and Enjolras loves it.

"Come at me," he says.

Grantaire does the opposite. He laughs. " _Come at me?_ Really?"

Enjolras blushes. He's awkward even at the best of times, and apparently, this extends to seduction as well. "You know what I mean," he says. "Give me the good good."

"Oh my god, that's worse." Grantaire laughs again, but he twines his fingers through the hair at the nape of Enjolras's neck and reels him in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Okay, then, cutie. Let me give you the good good."

As always, he starts off slow. Enjolras thinks he's not naturally a very aggressive person, and he always seems to be afraid of hurting him, no matter how many times he says he likes it a little rough. So after awhile, Enjolras is the one to deepen the kiss. He slides his tongue across the inside of Grantaire's lower lip, mentally congratulating himself at the faint gasp he makes. Then, because he can be just as much of a tease as Grantaire, he bites down, and slowly, slowly pulls away.

"Is that okay?"

Grantaire groans, deep in his throat. "Come here, you."

Now he really does make good. Enjolras is positioned conveniently on top of him, so it's quick work to nuzzle down the side of his jaw and suck a mark into his pulse-point. He licks over the bruise as soon as he makes it, though, soothing the slight sting. As he does so, he reaches one hand up under Enjolras's shirt to slide across the receptive stretch of nerves at his side.

Enjolras makes a drawn-out, embarrassing sound, though he's not embarrassed enough to try and hold back. He's so _sensitive_ , and Grantaire already knows how to play on his soft spots and make him squirm.

"Yes more, so good," he says, because positive reinforcement is always helpful, even if it's a little ungrammatical and not quite contextually supported.

Grantaire chuckles a little at that, sending vibrations through them both. "So cute."

He noses further down Enjolras's neck, down to his now-exposed collarbone (somehow, his shirt has fallen half off his shoulders, but when that happened, he can't say), and unexpectedly sets his teeth into it. Enjolras yelps in surprise and pleasure.

"Again!"

"Hmm? You like that?" Grantaire bites down again, harder. Despite all his misgivings, he's learning quickly what makes Enjolras tick.

Enjolras presses his lips against Grantaire's forehead, not kissing him, not exactly, but trying to show his love and passion as best he can. Some flyaway strands of hair tickle the side of his face and threaten to get into his mouth, but that's par for the course.

"I love you, I love you," he says, words bubbling out of him like water from a spring. "Grantaire, you're so amazing, so wonderful, and I love you so much."

Grantaire makes a soft sound against his neck. It sounds an awful lot like "I love you, too."

"Kiss me," Enjolras begs him, and to help move things along, guides his head back up so their lips can meet.

Grantaire's mouth is all slick-silky-heat, pressed against Enjolras’s, swirling and dipping and doing _things_ that are almost too good to be real. Enjolras feels like he's either drunk or dreaming; nothing else could explain the heady sweetness rushing through him, pulling him ever closer to the man in his arms.

He wants to speak, tell Grantaire how much he loves him and how gorgeous and perfect he is, but his mouth is busy, and he doesn't want to pull away. So he lifts one hand to caress Grantaire's face, as if revering him. With his other hand, he combs through his hair, careful not to tug too hard, because despite his willingness to satisfy Enjolras’s whims, he seems to prefer things soft and sweet. When he smiles and hums into the kiss, Enjolras knows he's done something right.

Their kisses quickly become increasingly scandalous. Soon, they're gasping, clutching to each other like love is their lifeline. Enjolras wants Grantaire to take him to bed right now, and he knows Grantaire wants it too– he can feel it. If they don't stop soon, they're going to end up taking all their clothes off and going at it in the backseat. Enjolras doesn't want to stop, and he doesn't want them to stray from this passionate path they're heading down, but he knows they can't go this far, not in Grantaire's car with nothing but the possibility of illegality to help them on their way. So, not without substantial regret, he kisses Grantaire one more time, good and hard, and pulls away.

"We can't," he says.

"I know. But later…?”

Enjolras brushes his fingertips across Grantaire's face, adoration and promise. "Yes. Absolutely."

They cuddle for awhile after that, taking the time to cool down. For someone so solid and muscular, Grantaire is surprisingly comfortable. Enjolras feels completely safe, and he hopes his own slight weight is enough to be a grounding base so that Grantaire will feel the same. Judging from the pleased little sounds he's making, and the contented way he brushes his hand through Enjolras's hair, it is.

After a bit (Enjolras couldn't say how long, but it's enough that he's starting to feel sleepy, and that won't do), they get out of the car and look around at their surroundings. It's a fairly deserted area, with nothing but a few buildings and the stars above to light the way. Grantaire looks quizzically down at Enjolras.

“What is this place? Did you bring me to some kind of secret society?”

“Maybe. Ooh, what if it is?” Enjolras starts to picture it, faceless people in suits clustered in the shadows around a table, making their plans in the dead of night. Would they be benevolent? Or not? Would they have grandiose plans? Maybe they would all run for political office. He ponders, wondering if someone ought to do something about this, because it's not right for all the power in the country to be held by such a select few, even if they’re not, strictly speaking, evil.

A laugh startles him out of his thoughts. "Angel, come back! You're a million miles away!"

“Ah.” Enjolras looks up and smiles at Grantaire, who tugs teasingly on one of his curls.

“Daydream much? I could practically see you going into the Illuminati headquarters.”

“I don't think it's the Illuminati,” Enjolras tells him seriously. “It's too low-key. If anything, it's probably just one of the lower groups in the network of power in this country. A petty cabal, if you will.”

"Holy shit." Grantaire starts laughing, and doesn't stop for a good half-minute until Enjolras pokes him.

"What's so funny?"

Grantaire wipes his eyes. "Wow! It's just, I never expected you to be a conspiracy theorist. Did you get that from Combeferre, or is it a personality trait all your own?"

"I'm not a conspiracy theorist," Enjolras tells him, pouting in playfully sulky outrage. "I'm just considering all the possibilities. Don't tell me you don't do the same."

"Well, okay. I do."

"See? We're perfectly complementary together!" For a second, Enjolras is afraid he's gone too far too fast, but Grantaire lights up and kisses him with great abandon.

"You're perfect," he says, once he finally pulls away to breathe.

Enjolras sticks his lip out in consideration. "I'm not perfect. I'm pretty not-perfect, actually. Did you know I seduced one of Courfeyrac's one-night stands by mistake?"

"I mean, if it was by mistake…”

"But then it became… Not a mistake."

Grantaire looks at him in amazement. For a second, Enjolras has no idea what he's going to do. Then, he bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, are you serious? You slept with your best friend's hookup?"

"It turned out okay," Enjolras hastens to explain. "Courfeyrac wasn't really dead-set on sleeping with him. And then, he went to 'Ferre's room, and they talked. Or something. Anyway, they got together that night."

"So, you played Cupid."

"I mean, I guess."

"Then you're an angel! My perfect, beautiful angel!"

Grantaire pulls him close again and brushes little kisses all over his face until he's giggling too hard to stand up straight. He hides his face against Grantaire's coat, suddenly shy.

"You really think so?"

"Of course." Grantaire pauses to kiss the top of his head, then speaks again, his voice more serious, but no less loving. "I know you're not truly perfect, darling. No one is. You're human, and you have all sorts of flaws that make you so. But I love flaws. And I love you."

"I love you, too," Enjolras squeaks. It's funny, he's the one who's supposed to be good with words, but right now, Grantaire seems to have taken all of his away. He contents himself with stretching up on his toes for another kiss.

"Let's go," he says. "I have to show you."

Grantaire takes his hand and allows himself to be led away from the car (Enjolras makes a point of locking it– no harm's going to come to Goku on his watch) and over to the building in front of them. It's dark and shadowy, deserted, and if Enjolras didn't know any better, he really would think it was the headquarters of some secret society. He squeezes Grantaire's hand tighter.

"It's okay. Nothing bad will happen to you."

"Honestly, I'm a little more worried about something bad happening to _you_ ," says Grantaire. Enjolras pays him no heed. He can definitely take care of himself. And, he trusts Grantaire to watch out for him. But mostly, he trusts in his own abilities to talk– or punch– his way out of whatever sticky situation might arise.

He opens up the keypad and begins to type the code to let them in. It's simple enough to those in the know, ‘star' in morse code, with 1 for dash and 0 for dot, but it looks cool. When the lock clicks open, he turns to Grantaire with a triumphant look.

"How's that?"

"Impressive." Grantaire smiles at him, looking actually, genuinely impressed. "You could be a hacker."

"I know, right? Come on."

He tugs Grantaire inside, and leads him through the dark recesses of the building, not pausing to admire the creepy atmosphere (because really, it is rather creepy) until they reach the stairs. There, he stops.

"Okay! So, would you rather take the stairs, which are scary, or the elevator, which is also scary, but shorter?"

Grantaire looks a little nonplussed now, but he nods at the elevator doors, off to the left of the stairwell.

"I'm a lazy butt, so let's go with that one."

"Okay. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Enjolras calls the elevator, which takes an awfully long time to come down, then steps inside, still clinging deathly tight to Grantaire's hand. He's always been a little scared of this place, honestly, not that it's not worth it, but he always feels like he's about to be murdered. Grantaire seems to notice his nervousness, because he smiles reassuringly, only just visible in the greenish half-light of the elevator.

"Don't worry. I'll protect you."

"You're my hero," Enjolras tells him, only partly jokingly.

Fortunately, the elevator doesn't get stuck or implode or fill with poisonous gas, and Enjolras and Grantaire disembark safely on the top floor. There's nothing up here, really, just the set of double doors down the hall and in front of them, so Enjolras gestures dramatically at them before walking up to pull them open.

"Are you ready?"

"I think so?"

"Good!" Enjolras tries to open the doors with a flourish, but they're too heavy, and he ends up back-handing himself in the nose. Then, he has to make Grantaire kiss it better (once he stops laughing), and the moment is lost. Still, he thinks it's suitably stirring when he finally does get the doors open and ushers them both inside.

Grantaire looks around them in amazement for a few seconds, uncharacteristically speechless. Then, he points up at the ceiling as if he's not sure he can trust his own eyes.

"An observatory?"

"Yes! Combeferre showed me once. Apparently, it belongs to Cosette's dad's company, and he doesn't mind me coming in here. It's funny, I never used to notice the stars before, but now they're like friends. Look!"

He points upwards, at the center of the dome. Polaris is there, of course, with the edge of Orion's Belt just peeking at the edge of his field of vision. They're stars that everyone knows, and of course he's still a baby in terms of astronomy, but he hadn't been lying. They _are_ like dear friends, familiar and loved.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he says.

"Yes." Grantaire's voice is pure awe. He sounds like he's just seen heaven itself– which, admittedly, he has. He's gone slack-jawed, just staring above him, barely even holding onto Enjolras's hand anymore. This is wonder in its most undistilled form.

Enjolras doesn't try to say anything else. He remembers how it had been when he'd come here with Combeferre the first time. It had been like seeing the stars for the first time in his life. He doesn't think Grantaire is experiencing that same rush of discovery and awakening, because he's always paid closer attention to the world around him than Enjolras has. Besides, with his seemingly never-ending font of knowledge, Enjolras is willing to bet he knows something about astronomy already. But even if their experiences aren't exactly the same, Enjolras knows what it's like to be lost among the stars, so he doesn't interrupt, just stands quietly and gazes up, too. It really is beautiful, he thinks. No matter how many times he comes here, he's never going to get over it.

Eventually, Grantaire manages to tear himself away from stars, and descends back down to earth. When he looks at Enjolras, though, it's as if all the starlight has merely transferred into his eyes.

"I can't believe this," he says. His voice is still hushed. "This is perfect. Enjolras… how did you know?"

"Sit with me," Enjolras tells him, so they do, right in the center of the observatory floor, because no one is there, and they don't have to worry about social niceties like chairs. Enjolras scoots in front of Grantaire, bundled in between his knees, and leans up against his chest. Grantaire wraps his arms around him, sheltering him from the chill and the dark air all around them.

"You know, they used to navigate with the stars," Enjolras says, because he's sure that Grantaire _does_ know, but he's an orator to the bone, and he knows a good opening when he sees one.

Sure enough, Grantaire hums gently into his hair. "I know. Old-timey Mapquest."

"Mhm." Enjolras nestles closer to Grantaire, smiling in the darkness. "That's why I brought you here. I mean, you love stars– I know you do. I heard you talking about astronomy with Joly. And this is a really nice place, anyway. But it's also because of navigation."

"What? Navigation?"

Right. Other people can't read the steps he skips in his thoughts. "Because you're the one who acted as my stars," Enjolras clarifies. "I couldn't drive, couldn't go anywhere, and you came along and opened up a whole new avenue of possibility for me. A road to the future, no stop signs in sight. You steered me, you…”

"I was the driving force behind your journey?"

Enjolras laughs. He tips his head up to nuzzle the coarse stubble under Grantaire's chin. "Yes, exactly." They might be about to lapse into silence, but Enjolras isn't done yet. He goes on. "It's not just that, though. Before, I thought we could never be friends. I thought you didn't like me. But I found out I was wrong about that. We _are_ friends. So, who knows what else I might be wrong about? Maybe all these people whom I think hate me, maybe they really don't. Because you didn't. So who knows? Anything could happen."

He's not sure if he expressed it well. It's been a journey, he's trying to say, a journey that didn't start with Grantaire, nor end with him, either, but which was spurred on– encouraged– by him, and everything he is. He's a landmark, something remarkable and timeless, and he's left a point in Enjolras's life that can never be undone.

Enjolras looks up to see how Grantaire is taking this. When no words are forthcoming, he taps him on the chin anxiously. "You're worlds better than a big ball of string, you know.”

“I… I'm glad you think so?"

"Because you're a landmark, you see. But not just any landmark. You're a heart landmark."

"Fuck." Grantaire squeezes him and lowers his head to speak into his neck, not in a seductive way, but in an intimate one, trying to say things that are meant for his ears only. "Enjolras, my precious Enjolras, you're my landmark, too. I love you so much. It's a perfect metaphor, really. You're so incredibly important to me, but it's not like I'm trying to revolve my life around you or anything. We both have our independence. But I'll never be the same, either. I'm so glad you're in my life. You mean the world to me– the world, and _all_ its landmarks."

“I… mm. I couldn't have said it better."

Grantaire laughs. "Yes, you could."

"Okay, well." Enjolras permits himself a small, teasing smile, and twists his head to kiss Grantaire's shoulder (the only part that he can conveniently reach). "Maybe I could."

It's not pretension. Each of them has their own strengths, and maybe they don't align exactly, but that's all for the better. They complement each other this way, like two halves of a paint-matching card. Enjolras is so happy. He knows this is a Facebook-style Life Event right here (even if he prefers landmark), and just as surely, he knows he'll never forget this moment.

He cuddles up closer to Grantaire and allows his eyes to fall halfway shut in pure contentment. Grantaire kisses his hair, but doesn't talk, either. They lapse into a peaceable silence, broken only by the faint sounds of the road outside, and it's not exactly standard, but maybe it should be. It's nice.

Eventually, Enjolras is the one to break it. And, break it he does. He taps Grantaire once again.

"Did you notice?"

"What?" Grantaire seems to be coming out of the most pleasant dream ever. He smiles down on Enjolras, though. "Notice what, love?"

Enjolras smiles back. This is the moment he's been waiting for all this time. He shifts to turn his head towards Grantaire’s– an important moment like this deserves eye contact– and nods.

“All the way,” he says. “I drove in fifth gear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://synchronysymphony.tumblr.com)


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